Favours
by FanfictionWriter83729
Summary: Complete. Postmovie. It all started when Sam did the Allspark a favour...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Do not own any of the Transformers franchises.

**Summary:** (Twoshot). Part One: "Sam gazed at the metal chamber, at the bullets in his hand, and then said, 'I guess you life-giving sentient thingies don't believe in small favours, huh?'"

**Author note:** Really hoping that "Allspark logic" makes sense.

* * *

Favours

**1: Problems**

Things seemed fine the first few weeks after Mission City. But after incidents like zapping the DVD player and like causing the lights in the house to flicker dangerously with just a sneeze, Sam figured that it was time to make an appointment with Ratchet.

What Ratchet found was both surprising and alarming. The Allspark had not perished; in fact, Sam was now the new carrier of the Allspark radiation. Sam took the news pretty well. He took it so well that Ratchet was worried that something was psychologically wrong within him. Sam assured him that he understood the gravity of the situation, but he also added that after all the things that happened between meeting Bumblebee and being chased around by Megatron in Mission City, nothing really surprised him anymore.

Besides, Sam didn't have the luxury to be surprised, to be worried, or to be in constant angst about his future, however potentially longer or shorter it may have become due to the twist that he became a carrier of potentially life-giving radiation. Allspark absorbance had enough problems as it was.

**X x X**

**Problem One: The Allspark is chatty…**

One of the first problems that he found was that the Allspark liked talking. It talked a lot. After listening to its musings and rhetorical questions for a week, he figured that it could probably beat down Optimus in a discourse about philosophy and about the workings of the universe.

He knew that the Autobots wondered if the Allspark was sentient, if it could think and speak and discuss. Sam wondered if it could ever shut up.

The first week that Sam acknowledged the voice to be that of the Allspark, and that he might not be as crazy as he thought, the Allspark decided to give him a crash course in some obscure topic. He was visiting the newly-built Autobot base when the following "Allspark-rant" ensued:

_The position of king is a necessary position. The black queen wishes to obtain the white king. The white queen stands in its way. Everyone wants the king, but no one wants to be the king. No being wishes to be in the position of king, in which the most valuable piece on the chessboard is the most vulnerable, the most weak. The king cannot even save himself._

"..."

_Are things really black and white? Surely there must be some areas of grey, some areas of uncertainty. Are your friends your friends, or are they your enemies? What defines an enemy? Someone who is after your life? In that case, am I my own enemy? Or is the enemy one that prevents you from doing what you must?_

"What the heck are you talking about?"

_Why do beings treasure that which they do not need? Why do they cling to poison as though it is life-giving water?_

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

_Two monkeys fight over a banana. Take away the banana. What will happen?_

"Seriously, come out with it! I can't take cryptic messages!"

_Answer me, child. What am I?_

"…You're…You're the Allspark! The life-giver of all of Cybertron."

_No, I am the poison of Cybertron._

"The poison? What do you mean by that?" But any further discourse was interrupted by Bumblebee, who came into the room looking slightly worried.

"Sam? Is something wrong? Who are you talking to?"

"…No one. It's nothing, Bee."

Sam would admit later that the Allspark talked to him. He only really told Bee, but the others doubtless knew of the situation. He would spontaneously say a sentence that didn't make sense to others, or make an expression or gesture that made sense only to the conversation in his head. If the others didn't know that something was up, then he'd have some serious issues with their title as highly-advanced alien robots.

**X x X **

**Problem Two: You are prize…**

To Optimus, Ratchet, Ironhide, and the newly fixed Jazz, he spoke briefly of the Allspark when they asked him to. He only had conversations with Bee and Mikaela about it, about the things that the Allspark talked about. And with the other Autobots who had answered Optimus's call, he didn't answer any questions at all.

The Autobots who came after his absorbance were awkward to talk to. It was hard for him to know whether or not they viewed him as a sentient being of his own right, or just an Allspark carrier. It was a trivial in the grand scheme of things, but a small part of Sam still wondered. And that part got bigger every time he went to visit the Ark and conversations halted at his presence. It got bigger every time he caught an Autobot looking at him with almost a confused look on his face, as though he wasn't acting in the manner that was befitting of the Allspark. It was especially bad with the 'bots who based their entire thinking on logic.

He didn't know what to make of them, and they didn't know what to make of him.

It was easier to interact with the Autobots who knew him pre-absorbance. Easier still was to interact with Bumblebee, who had been searching for him for five years before the incident occurred. But still, he couldn't help but wonder what he was to them all.

He knew what he was to the Decepticons. It was always, "Get the Allspark!" or, "The Allspark shall be ours!" or whatever the equivalent battle-cry of the week was. At least it increased his chances of survival. The Decepticons weren't willing to go all-out because then they would risk injury to the Allspark. More than once, Sam had heard the Decepticons grumbling about the weak organic shell that held the Allspark.

Sam wasn't bothered by it until the Autobots used almost the exact same phrase.

A particularly dangerous stunt during a Decepticon raid had landed him in the med bay. One ear was listening to the Allspark's ranting, and the other was listening to Ratchet's.

_A dangerous move on the part of the carrier—_

"That was a dangerous move, Sam!"

_Understood at the time—_

"Do you understand the implications? If the Allspark—" Ratchet broke off, suddenly and guiltily, at the almost betrayed look that Sam was wearing on his face.

_Your friends are still your friends. Do not blame them._

Sam didn't blame Ratchet or any of the Autobots though. He knew, and he understood.

But it still hurt.

Without even knowing it, in this twisted game of chess, he had been made king.

**X x X**

**Problem Three: The Allspark has twisted logic and it MAKES SENSE…**

That night, the Allspark was strangely quiet. It was though it knew that Sam wanted to ask it a question. Sam finally got up the nerve to ask it questions to which no safe answers lay.

"What are you?"

_I am a program; an obsolete program._

"How is that possible?"

_The One who designed me designed me for a purpose. I was to instigate First Life, and First Life only, on Cybertron. The Cybertronians have the ability to instigate Second Lives, and Third Lives, and so on and so forth. The ability is within them. The do not require me_

"Really? I thought that you were the source of all life on Cybertron. Without you, no children were born."

_The Cybertronians were young, and they panicked. Any younglings born in the way they were meant were dismissed as happy miracles. The first Cybertronians, seeing that my casing was deteriorating, took me and put me into an ageless body. The Cybertronians remained dependent on me. They could not grow into maturity because they remained dependent on me, like a drug that is taken long after it has fulfilled its purpose._

"So…?"

_I became poison to the planet. The Cybertronians started fighting for a power that they already had within themselves. In an invulnerable Cube, I could not do as I was designed to do. So I did the next best thing. I disappeared._

"You…blame yourself for the wars on Cybertron?"

There was a pause from the Allspark as it contemplated this question. _Humans have a term called 'do-over.' Essentially, that was what I became to the Cybertronians. Some became reckless; they became reckless with their lives and the lives of their young because they had a sure source of replenishment in their numbers. Without me, the Cybertronians would have been forced to work with one another in order to survive. With me, they had only more reasons to fight._

"But the Autobots aren't like that!"

_True, but some became like that. And thus wars were fought._

There was a pause as the Allspark came up with words to convey its alien message to the teenage human. _You have a human saying, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.' In essence, I had to become the enemy._

"You tried getting the Cybertronians to work with one another?"

_I was hoping that, in their despair, they would find a way to work with one another. And in their despair they would find hope. Then they would find their ability to give rise to Second Lives, and Third Lives, and so on. My presence divided them—my absence would unite them._

"Theoretically."

_Yes, theoretically. It did not work, however. Because I still existed._

"You…don't want to exist?"

_I am tired, child. I am tired of watching the First Lives destroy one another over an obsolete program like myself. I was made obsolete a long time ago, but I could not move on because I was in an invulnerable body. _

There was a pause as Sam processed this, before finally, fearfully whispering to the dark: "Not anymore."

The Allspark was silent.

**Problem Four: Friends agree that the Allspark makes sense**

Sam lounged in Bee's driver seat, with Mikaela at the passenger side. "Two monkeys fight over a banana. Take away the banana. What will happen?" Mikaela and Bee waited until Sam glanced at Mikaela (and glanced at Bee's dashboard) to ensure that he wasn't having another conversation with the Allspark.

"They'll find another banana?" Mikaela suggested.

"What if there's only that one banana? What if there's a way to get to a banana bowl, but only by working together?"

"Then the monkeys would work together to get the bananas," said Bee patiently.

"And once each monkey gets a banana, they won't fight anymore," Mikaela added.

Sam nodded.

**Problem Five: The Allspark will ask for a favour. And the carrier will NOT like it: **_**"The only way to end this war is to destroy the Allspark." **_**-Optimus Prime**

He needed a specific way to do this—one where the Autobots and the Decepticons would both know, without a doubt, what he had done. The opportunity presented itself in the form of a surprise Decepticon attack on an Autobot rescue mission.

Bumblebee had been ordered by Optimus to get Sam out of the fray. Unfortunately (or, fortunately, in Sam's case), they were cornered by Barricade at an abandoned warehouse. When Sam was told to run as Bumblebee turned to face the Decepticon, Sam could only say, sadly, "I'm not going to be the banana, Bee. Not when there's a whole bowl full of them waiting for you guys." Bumblebee gave him a confused expression, trying to bring some logic to his statement, but had to turn his attention to Barricade.

In that nanosecond it took to process Sam's statement, it was already too late.

Sam sprinted up the warehouse, and hit the button that slammed the opening closed. By the slamming at the door that occurred not a nanosecond after, Sam figured that Bumblebee had found out what he was up to.

Sam took out something that he had been keeping on hand for a while.

Sam gazed at the metal chamber, at the bullets in his hand, and then said, 'I guess you life-giving sentient thingies don't believe in small favours, huh?

_I thank you for doing me this favour._

"You know, this kind of makes it twice that I've killed you."

The Allspark gave no reply, but radiated tension. The door was beginning to give.

"How do I know that what I'm doing is right? What if this just makes them go nuts with hopelessness, and then they'll turn out like that mob in _Children of Men?_"

_You must trust them. You must trust that they will choose life. There is no other choice._

Sam never really noticed the voice of the Allspark before. He noticed what the voice was conveying, but he never really paid attention to the voice, to the richness that that voice held. The voice of the Allspark was neither male nor female, neither Cybertronian nor human, neither young nor old. It was the voice of life, the voice of sadness, the voice of mothers and fathers and daughters and sons. It was the voice of wisdom and kindness, and above all, truth. And Sam never noticed it before.

Maybe it was because he couldn't accept the voice, because he knew, all along, that it would ask him this favour.

But now that he accepted what the Allspark was telling him, he noticed the voice. And he wasn't afraid.

But he was sad. He regretted many things. He regretted that he couldn't say goodbye to so many people. He regretted that the last sounds he'd hear were the desperate sounds of Bumblebee trying to stop him.

_It will not be the last. I will repay you for this favour. I am deeply indebted to you, Samuel James Witwicky._

Sam pulled the trigger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** do not own Transformers. Am not making any money off this fic. : (

**Part two**: In which the Allspark begins to return the favour: "You said that you'd return the favour, right? Well, do me a favour and save her!"

**Semi-canon characters:**

Dewbot—Mountain Dew vending machine transformer  
Fury-9—Xbox transformer  
Dialme—Nokia cell phone transformer

**Author Note:** Now a three-part fic (Threeshot?) because an interlude had to be included. There had to be a transition, and a two-part just wouldn't have cut it.

**Author Note 2: **Thanks to Jason M. Lee for pointing out that it's "Dialme" not "Dailme." :) It's fixed.

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Favours

**2: Interlude**

Barricade had been enraged at the Allspark's demise, and showed his rage by trying to rip the spark out of the nearest Autobot. Bumblebee, to say the least, was distraught, and the only reason why he survived the attack was because of an innate desire for survival and because of the fighting instincts drummed into him by centuries of war.

By the end of it, both Cybertronians were on the ground, surrounded by destruction. Barricade shook his head in disgust, shouldered his weapons, picked himself up, and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Bumblebee asked, though he didn't care for the answer.

The Decepticon paused, considering whether or not to answer. Bumblebee was sure that he wasn't going to when Barricade, without turning around, replied, "The Allspark is lost. For good, this time. Our race is doomed, and I'd rather not spend the rest of my existence fighting a meaningless war against you glitches, fighting for a future that will never exist." And with that, he transformed into a battered police car and was gone in seconds.

Bumblebee stared after him, then went over to Sam's body, and picked it up gently, holding it carefully against his spark.

_Slag it! Why did I have to tell him about the banana?_

The Decepticons, and maybe even some of the Autobots, had lost just the Allspark. Bumblebee had lost so much more.

He didn't think that things could get any worse, but was proven wrong when, reaching his comrades, he found Ratchet holding Mikaela the same way that he was holding Sam.

**X x X**

Where…where are we?

_The tunnel, of course._

The tunnel?

_That is what humans term it as. We must part soon, though, before we reach the light._

**Sam? Is that you?**

Mikaela?

**Where are we?**

Oh, shit. What…what happened to you?

**Ratchet was trying to get me out, but…The last thing I remember is a shadow...What happened to ****you?**

…

**We're dead, aren't we?**

…Kinda.

**Damn it! That just SUCKS.**

_I hate to be interrupting, but we must be swift. We will be reaching the light at any moment. I must send you back before that, or else we must all continue on the same course._

**Who's that?**

Oh, yeah. You don't know what it sounds like. Mikaela, Allspark. Allspark, Mikaela.

**Nice…to…meet you?**

_It is nice to meet you as well, though it is unfortunate that we are meeting under these circumstances._

Wait. Did you just say that you were going to send us back?

_Only you._

Oh, heck no!

_You…do not wish to live?_

No! Not that! Living is good and all, but, I mean…send Mikaela back! You said that you'd return the favour, right? Well, do me a favour and save her!

**I'm not going without you, Sam. And I hate to be quoting that ridiculously sappy movie, but, well…You jump, I jump, right?**

_Fine. I shall use the last of my power to send both of you back…we might experience some problems though, since there are two of you…_

How are you going to send us back, exactly? My brain is kinda all over the floor…

**And I'm pretty sure I'm pancake by now…**

_We do not have the time for me to explain. You will just have to see…and trust. _

**X x X**

On Autobot records, Sam had been ruled as a suicide. Mikaela had been collateral damage. The Autobots knew that completing that report impersonally and professionally was the hardest thing that Bumblebee and Ratchet had to do, and they knew it was the hardest thing that Optimus, Jazz and Ironhide had to listen to.

The government, not wanting an international fiasco where distraught parents tried sending giant alien robots to jail, fixed up the bodies, and then lied to the Witwickys and the Banes, making up excuses for their children's deaths.

The incidences at the warehouse had, at the very least, made the government more wary about the resident aliens. All the Autobots were prohibited from coming into contact with any civilians. Ironhide had been banned from the Lennox home. He didn't say anything about it, but the others knew that the weapons specialist was especially saddened that he didn't even get to say good-bye to Annabelle.

Bumblebee, though, couldn't make himself care about this new predicament. He couldn't care about the government officials and new human liaisons coming onto the base. He couldn't even care when former agent Simmons sent the Autobots an e-mail, bearing two simple words:

Guardian, huh?

**X x X**

"Umm…this is…new," Sam said, looking down his—his?—body. The metal and wires were only slightly surprising. Sam realized that he-he?-had subconsciously seen this coming - they were being sent back by the _Allspark_ after all. The robotic equivalent of shapely hips, however...was totally unexpected.

"Uh, Sam, I'd hate to alarm you, but…" Mikaela said, looking down her—her?—own body, as surprised by her lack of...hips...as Sam was surprised with their presence.

There was a pause on the part of the Allspark, as though it was swallowing its pride. _I'm sorry. I did warn you that we might experience some difficulties. It would appear that I have sent your sparks to the wrong bodies, but I am already at my destination, and thus lack the ability and power to switch you to the proper vessels._

"No, no…I'm good with this," Sam said, and swayed his new body's midriff a bit, experimenting.

"I'm sure you would be," Mikaela said dryly, unamused.

"Come on! I'm just happy that I'm…er…breathing, in a manner of speaking."

"…That's true."

_Our time together draws to a close. Soon, you will not remember any of this conversation, nor will you have any memories of your past lives._

"Hold up! We won't remember…anything? Not our parents, not the Autobots…not even each other?"

_Yes. I'm sorry. It is something that I cannot control. But I will watch you from beyond the light, and I will help you find pieces of your past. That I promise you. Until then, I will not consider my debt repaid._

"Thank-you," Sam said.

"Yes, thank-you," Mikaela said.

_Oh no. It is I who must thank you. Now I suggest that you flee, before the managers and/or employees of this franchise arrive._

**X x X**

Sector Seven had taken many sparks away, extinguishing them just minutes after they came into existence. But happily, the Allspark had touched and changed machines without Sector Seven's knowledge. Dewbot, formerly just an ordinary Mountain Dew vending machine, after he had become aware of himself, after he had become aware that he was more than a shooting, bloodthirsty monster, took it upon himself to take care of his family. They were the Newsparks, a mismatched collection of watches, cell phones, palm pilots, iPods, desktops, laptops, vending machines, phone booths, and the occasional vehicle.

Dewbot made rounds of the Newspark territory, not only to oust out any Cybertronians, but also to ensure that they were hidden from humans. In hiding, they survived. Of course, his vending machine form was totally unsuited to travelling, and he lacked the physiology to change into car forms, so he spent his rounds in the shadow, in the cover of night, where only the extremely intoxicated could happen to lay a stray eye on him.

Being the leader of the Newsparks, Dewbot thought that nothing would surprise him anymore. That was proved wrong in the form of two small younglings, sitting rather conspicuously in the park.

_New younglings?_ were his first thoughts. Yes, the younglings must have been new. Though they were slightly taller than Dewbot—suggesting that their alt forms were vehicular—they lacked the armour that the older children of the Allspark learned to don by adding upgrades. However, they were not in a panic, not attacking anything.

Dewbot still remembered his first few minutes of existence. He remembered the blinding light, the panic, and the need for survival had driven him to attack all those beings around him. It wasn't only until later that he became aware of himself, that he knew what he was and what he had to do. He learned that many of the Newsparks were born in this manner, and that not all could calm down as soon as he had. He found the members of his family from the often violent (though thankfully non-lethal) situations that followed them in their wake.

Dewbot didn't usually take the path through the park by the lake. It was too open. But a little incessant voice had been telling him. _Go to the park. You are needed. Go to the park. You are needed._ The voice was almost as persistent as Dialme when he wanted something. But when he went to the park, he was extremely glad that he had listened to the voice.

The sight was so bizarre that he had left the vicinity, slapped himself firmly, and walked slowly back to ensure that he wasn't seeing things.

On this moonless night, right in front of him, on a park bench no less, sat not one, but two new younglings, both contemplating the sight of the lake in front of them in interest and speaking to one another in strange clicks and whirs—Newspark equivalent of baby speak. They'd grow out of that soon enough, though how soon seemed to vary greatly. Fury-9 and Dewbot himself had matured quickly, but Dialme and the rest of the Nokiabots seemed to be in a perpetual state of youngling-hood.

_How could this have happened?_ The last he'd heard, the Allspark powers were locked in an organic form. There were even rumours that the Allspark had been destroyed completely.

Not that the Newsparks were disturbed by the news. After all, they could reproduce—and have reproduced—without the Allspark's aid. And whilst they were sad by the passing of their 'mother,' they had known that that was what the Allspark wanted all along.

Dewbot shoved those questions to the back of his mind. The answers could come later. What was important was protecting the younglings. Vehicular-based younglings seemed especially attractive to those damn Cybertronians. And whilst the Cybertronians were quite content with leaving Xbox-bots and Nokia-bots alone—especially after Fury-9 had sent a surprised Frenzy back to Barricade in pieces—they would almost stop at nothing to add another vehicular-based youngling to their ranks. Autobot and Decepticon alike.

He approached to bench. The younglings looked up, gave two terrified squeaks, and then rushed into the surrounding trees. Dewbot sighed. It was going to be one of _those_ nights.

He paused, and then a strange sound—the sound of a vending machine at work—preceded the ejection of a Mountain Dew pop bottle. He twisted the cap open, producing a fizzing sound, and the younglings looked out inquisitively from behind the trees.

"Come on, little 'un's," Dewbot crooned, rather awkwardly, holding out the bottle. Fury-9 was the master of youngling-speak, not he. She was probably less intimidating-looking too, even if her hands were reminiscent of a certain Edward Scissorhands…but then, Dewbot figured that food was always a good way to get to younglings. But the Mountain Dew didn't seem to be incentive enough for the younglings to come out.

Dewbot sighed, and ejected out a different drink. He would go through the routine five more times (with Gatorade, Frappacino, Sobe, Pepsi, and Mug) before finally finding out what the younglings liked: strawberry milkshake. The younglings tentatively looked out from behind the trees, and allowed Dewbot to come closer to them. Dewbot continued to talk to them soothingly.

The smaller, white one—a femme by the looks of it, though it was kind of hard to tell with younglings—was the first to accept the offered gift, snatching it quickly before retreating a little ways. She looked at Dewbot then, unsure of what it was that she was supposed to do with it. Dewbot sighed again, then opened up a bottle himself, and, with deliberate motions, drank it.

Dewbot did not like strawberry milkshakes. He much preferred Mountain Dew, an ironic twist which amused Fury-9 to no end.

The things he did for younglings.

The child mimicked his motions, and then, with some surprise, looked at her companion and made a strange clicking noise, as if saying: "This thing is good."

The larger, red youngling—who was probably a male-bot—made a whine of doubt, to which the smaller youngling replied with a high-pitched trill, as if saying: "Come on. Try it, try it, try it." She offered him the half-full bottle, and he took it and, with some suspicion, drank it before making a noise of surprised happiness.

Both looked back at Dewbot with begging looks in their optics.

Soon, in the shadows of the trees, Dewbot was awkwardly supporting the recharging younglings on his lap—not an easy feat, considering that both younglings, whilst light, were rather large. The three were surrounded by empty glass bottles. Dewbot had to marvel at the hunger of younglings.

**X x X**

_Fury-9, come in_, Dewbot said through his spark-bond with the Xbox-bot.

_Hey, Dewy. What's up?_ came the overly cheery voice of Fury-9.

…_I really wish you wouldn't call me that._

_But aren't spark-mates allowed to give one another cute nicknames?_

_Cute is one thing. Degrading is a whole other issue._

_Fine, fine. We'll discuss it later. What's the matter? You usually don't speak through our spark-bond unless it's an emergency…Is someone hurt? _

_No. I found two younglings—two new younglings. And they weren't attacking anything, or anyone._

_Wow. That's something you don't see everyday. But I doubt that all you wanted me to do was to tell Dialme that he was going to have two new siblings._

_Your intuition is exact. I require aid._

_What for? Can't handle two little younglings by yourself?_

_I could, if only they __**were**__ little._

_Vehicular-based younglings, huh?_

_As I said before, your intuition is exact. They are in recharge at the moment—_

_That must have taken gallons of Mountain Dew—_

_Oh, you are mistaken. It took exactly four litres of strawberry milkshake. Each._

…_Lemme go hijack a truck and I'll be right with you._

**X x X**

After picking up the younglings and taking them back to the Newspark 'base'—i.e. an abandoned warehouse—Fury-9 had, predictably, taken an immense liking to the younglings. Though they were twice her size, she snatched up the femme quickly with one spindly arm, and the male-bot with the other.

"I'll call you Spike," she proclaimed to the shocked youngling in her left arm, "and you'll be Sparkplug!" she said to the wriggling youngling in her right. "And you'll be ours forever and ever and ever!"

"Fury-9…I do believe that you are scaring them," Dewbot said warily, feeling immense sympathy for the younglings caught in the femme's embrace.

"Shush! Mommy's going to show Dialme his new siblings!" She trotted off happily, dragging the younglings with her.

"…Sometimes I wonder how I ever got bonded with a crazy, Frappacino-addicted mech like you," he called to her.

"You love me and you know it!" she called back.

Amidst the chatter of Fury-9 and the equally hyper Dialme, the younglings were contemplating this new turn of events.

"Sparkplug," the male bot said slowly, trying out the word that the adult mech had termed him.

"Spike," said the femme in a similar fashion.

They both looked at each other, agreeing through their spark-bond that the names didn't sound too bad.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Do not own Transformers.

**Part Three:** In which the Autobots make a proposition: "We come with a proposition," Ratchet said. "An exchange of favours."

**Author note: **Some of you may be wondering why I did what I did in the previous chapters. To enlighten you, I give you a snippet of a conversation between me and my muse, Dialme (who makes an…appearance…in this fic).

Dialme: You _gotta _write it.  
Me: No.  
Dialme: Come on. You gotta try it. Do it do it do it.  
Me: There are other authors already doing Allspark!Sam, Autobot!Sam, and girl!Sam.  
Dialme: If you don't do it, I'll make sure that you won't be able to write vampire!Sam for a long, long time.  
Me: …I hate you.  
Dialme: You love me and you know it. Besides, have you ever seen those three fan-views of Sam…_together?  
_Me: …Now THAT'S an idea.  
Dialme: (gives a slow grin) Yup.

**Alt-forms  
**Spike—white Ducati Superbike 848  
Sparkplug—red Ducati Superbike 1098

* * *

Favours

**3: Newspark Dilemma**

The day was disgustingly bright and cheerful, the day that they buried Dialme. They buried him in an abandoned field, miles from anywhere. Spike cradled his little form in one hand, and carefully dug out a hole in the other.

"He was six years old, Spike," Sparkplug said comfortingly, kneeling next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "That's pretty old for a Nokiabot."

"He had decades left in his spark. Centuries, even." Spike argued softly, placing Dialme into the hole and covering it lovingly. "Little slagger, always running around…remember that time he got into Kitten's tool kit? Kitten was sooo angry…"

"His spark was young, but his body wasn't."

"Why?" Spike questioned, knowing full well that she sounded unreasonable, but was too sad to care. "The Cybertronian Cassettes are _dinosaur_-old, and they're still okay!"

"Fury-9 thinks that it's because their bodies were made in Cybertron. The metal on earth just can't compete."

With the mention of Fury-9, Spike deflated a little, shame coming up to her faceplate. Dialme was Fury-9's first youngling, and she hadn't given a thought about how her surrogate mother must have felt when she told them that she couldn't come to Dialme's ceremony.

"How's she taking it?" Spike asked.

"Not well. She really wanted to come to the ceremony, but with the sudden onslaught of Newsparks coming into the medbay…"

"Caralarmbots, or Nokiabots?"

"Caralarmbots and Nokiabots are taking the worst of it, but there have been Handheldbots and iPodbots and all sorts coming in too. The vehicular-based 'bots are a bit more well off, but…you know Titan? He takes the form of a Vespa? He came in last week thinking that it was just a tire needing fixing, but he actually blew some wires. If he didn't come in when he did…It's really worrying Fury-9. That, and Dewbot…"

"Dewbot will be fine," Spike said sharply, firmly. Sparkplug, understanding, just squeezed her shoulder.

"Come on. We can't stay around here, or else we might catch some…unwanted attention." With a final pat on Dialme's mound, Sparkplug stood up, and, with a twist, transformed into his alt form—a red Ducati SBK1098. He waited for the dust around him to settle, and revved his engine softly, waiting for Spike. She lingered a second longer, saying goodbye to her older brother, and then got up as well.

"We can't even leave a marker because of the Cybertronians," Sparkplug muttered darkly. Spike nodded, and joined her spark-mate in alt-form—a white Ducati SBK848—and both went out into the open road.

They left behind them dozens of little mounds; all there was to commemorate their losses over the past six years.

**X x X**

After the Allspark's destruction, there had been a lull in action. Neither the Autobots nor most of the Decepticons were willing to continue, when the whole purpose of the fighting was lost. There had been some half-hearted attempts by the most zealous of Decepticon troops—Starscream and Soundwave among them—but those had been easily deflected. The mellowest of the troops had broken off and were proposing for a stalemate. In a way, Sam's actions did bring peace.

Bumblebee just wished that the price hadn't been so high.

In the absence of fighting, the Autobots had time for other things. Idly, some Autobots on the science team started observing the Newsparks—beings whom they had ignored for the most part. It was then that they realized that the Newsparks numbers were steadily increasing—they were multiplying, without the Allspark.

That had given all the Autobots a hope which they hadn't felt in eons. Of course they had tried contacting the Newsparks, asking them how exactly this miracle occurred. But the Newsparks were _not_ amused that they had been made the subject of observation, and refused any contact. They tried disappearing from Autobot radar altogether, though that attempt failed. The Autobots still watched them, quietly…if not to learn their secret, then at least to protect them from certain Decepticons who would extract it from them painfully. But all the meticulous methods of observation they came up with were no match for the Newsparks' secrecy.

The only piece of information that they could get was that the birth of a Newspark followed a small rash of thefts, where everything from cell phones to mopeds got stolen.

After some years, they noticed another change in the Newspark numbers. Where once had been a flourishing population was now a population in decline.

Further prodding located a Newspark burial ground. Most of the bodies had been Nokiabots, Caralarmbots, and the like. The pessimistic ones of the Autobot team had proposed that perhaps the Newsparks were squishing some of their numbers like insects. That was proven wrong, however, when Perceptor brought back footage showing two young Newsparks burying one of their members in a strange ceremony.

The observations were conclusive. The Newsparks were dying.

**X x X**

Ratchet tried ignoring the glares that the Newsparks gave him as he entered their medbay, located inside an old farmhouse. He knew that they had been lucky that they found the place at all; the Newsparks seemed nomadic in their very nature, wanderers, and didn't stay in one place too long.

The inside of the building confirmed what he knew all along: the Newsparks were in trouble. The place was littered with battered-looking Nokiabots and drained Caralarmbots, with the occasional laptop in their ranks.

"Well, I feel welcome," Jazz, on his right, said jokingly. To the surrounding Newsparks, he offered brightly, "We come in peace. Take us to your leader."

There was a rustle of noise, and a femme stepped forward. Her body resembled that of a Cassette's, but at the end of her hands were long talons.

"I think this is the 'bot that sliced and diced Frenzy," Jazz murmured to Ratchet.

"Our leader is indisposed of at the moment," the femme said. "So I will deal with you in his stead." Both Autobots couldn't deny the shiver that went up their armour when the femme said "deal."

"We come with a proposition," Ratchet said. "An exchange of favours."

"And what could Cybertronians offer us that we could possibly want?"

"Knowledge of armour-tempering."

"Why would we need such a thing?"

"We know that the Newsparks are dying out. Their sparks move on before their time because the vessels that contain them can't handle them."

There was a gasp from all around. "How did you—" the femme began, her optics narrowing in suspicion.

"Chill, little people," Jazz said rather nervously, looking around him and noting how the Newsparks were converging on them. They might not have been big—most were smaller than humans—but a headless Frenzy was a testament to their ferocity.

"Armour-tempering is what all Cybertronians must do," Ratchet said calmly, though even as he spoke the Newsparks were surrounding them. "Despite what you think, the metal on Cybertron that makes up our bodies is not that different from earth metal—from the metal that makes up your bodies. Millennia ago, when younglings were still being born, we taught them to temper their armour, so that it could house the spark within. We can teach you to do the same."

The femme paused, head cocked to one side, thinking on their words. "Exchange of favours, you say. What do you want from us in return?"

"We would like to know how it is that you give birth to younglings without the help of the Allspark."

The Newsparks, even the extremely battered ones, laughed just then, as if Ratchet had made the funniest joke that they had heard in months. The femme seemed especially amused.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHahaha…" She suddenly sobered. "We will think on your words. Now get out." Without even waiting for their answer, she turned her back on them and resumed her work—stitching together a Nokiabot.

"I guess that ends our talks…" Jazz murmured.

**X x X**

Jazz and Ratchet left at the same time two Ducati Superbikes—one white and one red—arrived, driving past them, their holograms flickering out before they entered the farm. The white one didn't hit the brakes properly and in consequence careened into a haystack. The red one transformed into bipedal form, and, shaking his head, dug her out.

"Honestly, Spike...sometimes I think that you should just scan a dirt bike. At least that form would be able to take your clumsiness better." But even as the red youngling said this, he was brushing off the white youngling tenderly.

"But then I'd slow you down on the roads…we both know how you like speeding…"

Ratchet and Jazz looked at the two motorcycle transformers, looked at the two younglings, one sweet and clumsy and the other brash and kind, both wondering why they struck a chord of familiarity within them, though not voicing that feeling aloud.

_Do you ever think of them? Do you ever think of the humans?_

"You ever think of the humans?" Jazz said suddenly, not quite knowing why he was bringing up a taboo issue. Taboo because it hurt too much to think about, let alone voice aloud. They both knew what—or rather, who—he meant by 'the humans.' "They would have been in their twenties by now…"

Ratchet looked surprised, but then nodded. "Yes. I think about them everyday."

Jazz nodded as well. "As do I."

"We all do."

"We failed them, Ratchet."

Ratchet gave no reply, though he was agreeing on the inside.

"You think that Bee ever got better?" Jazz asked. "You ever think the kid stopped blaming himself?"

"No. He just got better at hiding it."

_Do they not look familiar? Do they look familiar to you?_

"Sparkplug," Spike said, in bipedal form, taking out the last bits of straw, and looking after the departing alt forms of their visitors. "Do those 'bots look familiar to you?"

Sparkplug glanced behind him. "Come to think of it, yeah." He shrugged. "Maybe they've visited the base before."

Spike nodded. "Could be."

**X x X**

"We buried him," Spike said.

"…At least he's with friends," was the only reply they got from Fury-9.

"Were those Cybertronians? Autobots or Decepticons?"

"Autobots. The Decepticons would not have been that civil."

"What did they want?"

"They came with a proposition. An exchange of favours. They want to know how to make younglings; in return, they offer to teach us how to make our bodies last a spark's lifetime. An exchange of favours which will keep both of our groups from extinction."

The two younglings processed this, and Sparkplug said: ""…So…In return for tempered bodies…we're…going to have to teach the Cybertronians…"

"…the Newspark equivalent of the karma sutra?" Spike finished for him.

Fury-9 looked tired. "…Yes, you two. If you must put it that way."

"Oh."

**X x X**

"The NBE's have been pretty quiet lately."

"…"

"Well, _besides_ the hack into the satellite. Weird though…all they took were pictures of some field…"

"Kind of makes you think that something's up, eh? Especially after that string of attacks when they lost that Cube-thing...then nothing? What's up with that?"

"Doesn't it make you glad that they reinstated Sector Seven?"

"Hell yeah."

* * *

**Author note 2:** I'm sorry. It turns out that this isn't going to be a three-part after all. It will still be short—I guarantee no more than ten chapters…it might even be finished in the next chapter…(but I'm not gonna say definitely because then another bunny will pop up…) The…er…culture of the Newsparks just sucked me in. Besides, I realized that this fic isn't just about the favours being exchanged between Sam and the Allspark—it's also about favours being exchanged between the Newsparks and the Cybertronians, between the mechs and the humans, etc... 

These realizations came after me and my muse had a fight:

Me: La-de-da-de-da…Yay! The three-part is done! (Looks at the bottom of the page)...Waaiiiittt a second…Dialme! You liar!

Dialme: (Scowling) You killed me off in the third chapter! I didn't even get a proper death speech! What else did you think I was going to do?

Me: . . .

Yeah…so…sorry to the people who wanted this to be a three-part…the conclusion hasn't come yet… :'(


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers.

**Part Four:** In which there is a chase scene. "Arcee knew what her mentor, Ironhide, had been thinking when he asked Optimus to do him a favour and send Bumblebee on this particular mission. He had thought that it was time to move on. But what Ironhide hadn't understood was that Bumblebee wasn't ready to let go yet."

**Author Notes: **would appreciate it if someone could explain to me how Arcee could be about the same size as Bumblebee (from what I've heard). I mean, Optimus, Ratchet, Jazz, Ironhide, and even Bumblebee being the size they are portrayed is kind of plausible…but I kinda figured that a motorcycle would be just taller than a human…I mean, there's less "stuff" to them…

Now that I've made it known that I don't know exactly how Arcee is that tall, I ask you to believe it when I say that Spike and Sparkplug are about Dewbot's size.

Spike and Sparkplug's sparks matured rather quickly (more on Newspark-aging will come about later in the fic…). They are about Cybertronian/Newspark equivalent of twelve-year old humans.

* * *

Favours

**4: Holograms**

_Mikaela?_

_What is it?_

_Nothing. I just wish that we could tell everyone—our parents, Optimus, Bee and them…_

_I'm sure they know why you did what you did._

_It's not just that. I just wish that I could tell him that we're okay._

_We'll find each other again, Sam. _

_You really think so?_

_I know so…Just like how I know now that you make a very pretty girl-bot._

…_Why, thank-you._

Spike woke up slowly, her sensors coming online with reluctance. She'd been dreaming again—at least, she thought she had been dreaming. She had asked Fury-9, and Fury-9 had told her that no other Newsparks besides Sparkplug and her had ever talked about experiencing this 'dreaming.' But Fury-9 had just shrugged it off. The Newsparks were a new race. Many things were not yet known about them.

But then again, there were things about both Spike and Sparkplug that made them a little different from the rest of the Newsparks…Like how they could talk with one another in their sleep, through their dreams. Spike went to lie down beside her spark-mate. She could use some more hours of recharge…

_But don't you want to visit Mission City?_

Spike bolted upright. Recharge? What was she thinking? There was a whole new city to explore!

Sparkplug was still recharging, and Spike, not wanting to wake him, spoke through his dreams.

_Sparkplug?_ she said softly through her spark-bond.

_What is it, Spike?_

_I'm going out for a run, okay? Maybe to that city near us…Mission City, wasn't it? Should prove to be a challenge…_

_Okay. Don't get lost._

_You'll never let me live that one down, huh?_

_Never. Now let me recharge. _He sent her a pulse of love through their spark-bond, an equivalent of an affectionate shove out the door.

Spike carefully got out of the hay loft that she and Sparkplug had rested in the night before, avoiding disturbing her spark-mate, who was splayed in bipedal form in the hay. She looked around her. The Newsparks who had had to stay the night were all in their alt-forms—their energy-saving forms. They were resting in the stalls where the horses would have usually gone. A pang went through her spark when she realized how many there were. It almost made her want Dewbot and Fury-9 to consider the Autobots' offer…

She clambered over the hay and straw and grass and dirt to where Fury-9 was, careful to not disturb the Nokiabots and Caralarmbots who had gathered close to her before going into recharge. Gently, she poked the Xbox form. "Fury-9?"

An optic tiredly made its way out of the game console. "Spike? Why aren't you recharging?"

"I'm done recharging." She made a soft metallic noise, the Newspark equivalent of a sigh, at the disbelieving look that Fury-9's optic gave her. "Really. I'm going to go check out Mission City. Is that okay?"

"Are you going to be using the usual hologram? The one that you seem so fond of?" Fury-9 drawled out, with a hint of good humour. It was good to hear that in Fury-9 again, so Spike kept quiet about the hologram jab.

"Yes. But it's Mission City, not Tranquility. No one's going to notice."

"Better not. Remember the reports about the ghost sightings?"

"Really sorry…but how were we supposed to know that their best friend had parked right beside us?"

"We were just lucky that that Miles person had a reputation for being quirky, and was thus dismissed." Fury-9 sighed, her extended optic dipping a little in resignation, knowing that it would be futile to try and talk Spike into using a different hologram. Both she and Sparkplug were just so stubborn about them…Though why they felt attachment to long-dead human younglings was beyond Fury-9's understanding…"Just be back before sundown. We're meeting in the usual place tonight, and I won't be able to cover for you when Dewbot asks where you are. You know how he gets when you're out in the dark. If you're out beyond your curfew, I can't stop him from grounding you."

"Before dark. Promise."

"Get going then." Spike had already transformed and was out of the barn before Fury-9's optic was back in the console. Her hologram flickered briefly before solidifying its shape, and she drove off into the sunrise.

**X x X**

"Those Newsparks sure are stubborn," Arcee transmitted to Bumblebee as they stopped for a red light. The small talk was an attempt to distract Bumblebee, of course. The scout had been depressed lately, ever since Optimus requested that he and Arcee check out Mission City as a possible sight for peace talks and negotiations between the Newsparks, the Autobots, and the peace-seeking Decepticons. It was symbolic, in a way, but brought up memories. Too many memories. It had been six years, but Bumblebee was still hurting.

Arcee knew what her mentor, Ironhide, had been thinking when he asked Optimus to do him a favour and send Bumblebee on this particular mission. He had thought that it was time to move on. But what Ironhide hadn't understood was that Bumblebee wasn't ready to let go yet.

The humans went about their lives, unaware that the rider atop the pink Buell and the driver of the yellow Camaro were not real. A white Ducati pulled up beside Bumblebee in the next lane, its rider likewise unaware of the conversation going on between the two 'bots.

"They don't trust us, Arcee. They can't be sure that we'll uphold our end of the—" Bumblebee's words suddenly cut off.

"Bumblebee? What's wrong?"

Silence met her query. Bumblebee's radio suddenly gave a horrible screech. All the surrounding drivers—the rider of the white Ducati included—turned to look at the malfunctioning Camaro. Thankfully, only Arcee noticed that the Camaro's 'driver' disappeared for a brief moment. Something had shocked Bumblebee. Shocked him badly.

"Bee? What are you doing? Is something the matter?!"Only extreme discipline kept Arcee from transforming then and there to check on her comrade. Bumblebee still didn't answer.

The light turned green. The traffic moved. The Ducati surged ahead.

Bumblebee suddenly changed lanes.

It was only when Arcee made the same manoeuvre in an attempt to follow did she realize what Bumblebee was doing—he was following the white Ducati.

**X x X**

_Look beside you. Let your attention wander,_ a small voice said. _Pay attention to the life around you._

"They don't trust us, Arcee. They can't be sure that we'll uphold our end of the—" Bumblebee's attention wandered to the surrounding vehicles as he started to answer his comrade. His optic rested on the rider who waited beside him.

His felt his spark surge.

It…it couldn't have been. His logic processors were against the very idea.

His spark was with the very idea.

_It is,_ said the small voice.

It couldn't have been. He made a screech with his radio, just to make sure. The rider turned to look at him. It wasn't—it couldn't—it was. It had to be.

_It is. Slag your logic processors, and follow,_ whispered the small voice.

Slag his logic processors. He wasn't going to lose him again.

The light turned green. The Ducati moved, and Bumblebee followed.

Maybe Sam didn't notice him. Bumblebee honked his horn. The driver didn't turn around, but sped up instead. Why was Sam ignoring him?

Bumblebee sped up a little too, to keep up. He noticed that he had to speed up time and time again.

Why was Sam running from him? That didn't matter; he'd ask when he caught up to him. What mattered was that he was there, and that Bumblebee wasn't going to lose him.

They weaved in and out of traffic. The white Ducati made some tricky manoeuvres, but Bumblebee still kept up easily. He'd transform right in the middle of the city and leap over the cars stopped in traffic if he'd have to.

What was Sam doing? Did he think that it was a game? Didn't he know how much Bumblebee missed him? No matter—Bumblebee would ask when he caught up with him.

Bumblebee didn't register Arcee's questions and, later, Optimus' and Ironhide's combined concerned orders. He didn't even register that he had, in his shock, stopped projecting his hologram streetlights ago. All he heard was the small voice in his head, saying: _Follow. Follow. Follow._

Sam lead him into an abandoned part of Mission City—a part that hadn't yet recovered from the destruction that took place there years ago. The Ducati turned into an alley, and Bee followed, transforming as he did so. The Ducati turned around. Sam was looking at him, with those familiar, sorely-missed eyes. He reached out for his friend. "Sa—" His words died in his vocal capacitor, and his spark dimmed as Sam flickered out of existence.

The white Ducati transformed.

Bumblebee found himself face-to-face, not with his friend, but with a very frightened youngling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Don't even own any of the vehicles mentioned. :'( Er…one part in this chapter is inspired by a scene in Gundam Seed. So yeah, don't own that either.

**Part Five:** In which Bumblebee makes a mistake.

* * *

Favours

**5: Mistake**

The Camaro beside her let out a horrible screeching noise. Spike, noticing how other humans turned around to look, made her hologram turn as well, trying to stay invisible in the crowd of humans.

The light turned green, and she drove on. She didn't think much about the honking of horns or the loud protests that erupted behind her as the Camaro and the Buell made a sudden change in lanes, and she had turned two corners before she realized that the Camaro was still behind her. Troubled, but not alarmed just yet, she sped up. She noticed that she had to do it time and time again to keep proper distance from it.

_This driver's nuts!_ she thought. But after turning another sharp corner and checking behind her, she noticed that—suddenly—there was no driver in the pursuing Camaro.

Scared out of her CPU, Spike sent an emergency message to Sparkplug.

"Sparkplug! It's stalking me!"

"Spike? Spike, calm down. What's stalking you?"

"Satan's Camaro, that's what!" Another sharp corner, and the Camaro was still behind her.

"What do you mean?"

"No driver, Sparkplug! No driver!"

Sparkplug cursed colourfully. "It's probably a Cybertronian. I'll get Dewbot and Kitten, and I'll be right with you. Just stay calm."

"Easy for you to say—and—slag it! There's a crazy Buell too!"

**X x X**

"They've _what?_" Ironhide demanded, the first to overcome the shock of the news.

"Reinstated Sector Seven," Will Lennox said calmly from Optimus' desk, though on the inside he felt as turbulent as his Autobot counterpart did. "Maggie went on a hunch that something was up, that the creepies over at the government were being too quiet, and she and Glen hacked into their systems."

"They're going under a different name now, of course," Maggie, standing beside Will, put in. "Calling it 'The Sector' or whatnot, but in between the lines it's still Sector Seven. It's special-ops, meaning that Keller wouldn't know a thing about it."

"I shall contact Secretary Keller immediately," Optimus said.

"No good," Will said ruefully. "They're under a different name, under a different premise—"for observations and maintenance of proper communications with NBEs" they say, and look totally legit. We can't prove that they've done anything, so Secretary Keller couldn't do anything about them even if he knew."

"We can always just blast 'em," Ironhide grumbled.

"So what? We wait for them to attack?" Jazz demanded.

"As long as they leave us be, I cannot agree to attacking them, seemingly without cause. This is their planet…and now is not the time to stir up antagonism." Optimus said reluctantly. Though he had really bad feelings when Sector Seven came into the issue, attacking a government facility without hard evidence that it really _was_ Sector Seven would endanger the Autobots' stay on Earth. And they could not afford that…not with the possible negotiations, with the promise of a new beginning.

Jazz just shook his head. "Whatever you say, boss-mech."

"We'll just have to watch them. If they do anything funny—" Will was suddenly interrupted by a trilling ring, along with a buzzing sound. He flushed. "Sorry," he apologized to the Autobots, and then went to turn it off. But he glanced at the caller ID, frowned, and picked up the call instead.

"Hello?" There was a pause as whoever it was on the other line answered. A look of confusion crossed Will's face, as he turned to Optimus and said, "It's for you."

Surprised as well, Optimus gingerly held the tiny device in between his thumb and forefinger. Pointedly ignoring the chuckling he was getting from his comrades, Autobot and human alike, he said, "Hello?" into the phone.

"Prime," Dewbot rumbled poisonously. Even the Nokiabot he had asked to assist him in contacting the Autobots shivered at his words. "Care to explain why your scouts are stalking my youngling?"

**X x X**

The youngling, confronted with what appeared to be a threat, took out her rather useless-looking weapons—which would have been about as useful as water guns going up against a semi-automatic. Bumblebee stopped short, his spark sinking. Arcee screeched into the alley, and transformed behind him. He barely registered the "Uh-oh," that Arcee muttered, and the "We're in _so _much trouble," that came after it.

"What do you scrap heaps _want?_" demanded the small, white youngling. Though the cannon shook, betraying her fear, it remained steadily focused. There was a sharp click behind them, and Arcee and Bumblebee turned around. The sight of another youngling, about the same age and size as the first, greeted them. "Get away from her," he said. He craned his neck to look around them. "Spike, are you okay?"

"If you call being chased around by insane Camaros and Buells okay, then yeah, I'm just peachy," the white youngling replied.

Arcee turned to Bumblebee. "If you tell the twins that we got held up by two younglings with toy weaponry…"

They didn't have the luxury of explaining their—or rather, Bumblebee's—mistake, however. The alley suddenly echoed with the clanging of heavy metal. The red youngling was soon overshadowed and shoved behind a fearsome—and very angry—bipedal silver Escalade, pointing equally formidable-looking plasma cannons in their direction.

He looked almost Decepticon in appearance, with two rows of sharp teeth, an angled, jutted faceplate, and spikes adorning his shoulders and arms. The only difference was in the metallic green optics—incredibly different from the Autobot blue and Decepticon red. It was only that observation that kept both Autobots from levelling their own weapons at him. They had already mangled negotiations enough by _stalking_ a Newspark, and a youngling one at that…they really didn't need to kill off the negotiations completely by pointing a cannon at one. "Step away from the youngling, _now,_" he hissed. Arcee and Bumblebee raised their hands complacently and backed off.

"Kitten!" yelled the youngling in relief, subspacing her weapon and dashing past the two bewildered scouts and to her guardian. He shoved the youngling behind him, reuniting her with the first. The younglings embraced in relief.

"Kitten?" mumbled Arcee. Bumblebee was too shocked to speak. And he thought that being named after a generally cutely-portrayed insect was bad. He almost felt sorry for the being that was threatening them.

"I knew that you Cybertronians were vicious," Kitten said, oblivious to the little reunion going on behind him, "but never—_never_—did I think that you would go so far as to stalk a youngling."

Kitten's communications cackled to life, and he switched to a private frequency in order to keep the Autobots from overhearing. "Kitt? Do you have the youngling with you?" asked Dewbot worriedly.

Kitt, never taking his eyes off the Autobots, answered, "Yes. Both of them."

"Both?"

"Sparkplug joined in the fray."

"…I should have seen that coming. I will deal with both of them later tonight."

"What of the Autobots?"

"…Let them go," Dewbot said somewhat regretfully. "Prime assured us that whatever the scouts were doing, it was not under his orders, and they will be summarily questioned about their actions and punished."

"Do you really trust him?"

"There is no choice at this moment."

Kitt put away his weapon, integrating it into one of his many layers of armour. With a haughty glare at the Autobots, he turned to the two relieved younglings.

"You two. Home. Now."

Slightly abashed, the two younglings did as they were bid. They were joined by the Escalade a moment after, and all three Newsparks' holograms were projected.

"And Spike?"

"Yes, Kitt?"

"I would feel _so_ much better, if, the next time you are holding a weapon to a threat, you take _off_ the safety."

"…Oh. I knew that."

"Hey," Arcee said, inspecting the departing Newsparks, "that white one…Doesn't her hologram look just like—" Her sentence was cut off as she realized what Bumblebee had seen, and what had prompted his actions.

Bumblebee could only look sadly at the retreating forms.

**X x X**

"So…you guys are like Sector Seven?"

"Oh no. We're much better than Sector Seven."

"In what way?"

"Because we know not to mess with the big ones. The small ones you can take. The big ones—no. Just no."

"Gotcha."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** do not own Transformers.

**Part six: **In which something is missing: They didn't have to talk about the gaping hole they felt each night, as if something important had been taken away from them.

**Author note:** I admit that I can't really think of Simmons as evil. Antagonist, yes, bastard, yes, but human version of Megatron? Not really. I even think that he learned to like Sam at some level, and I heard admiration in his tone when he called Sam an "extortionist." I could be proven wrong in the next movie, but for now, that's my view of him. That being said, on with the chapter.

* * *

Favours

**6: Bits of the Past**

"_We won't remember anything, after awhile," Sam said mournfully._

_-Yes you will. You may.- the Allspark gently corrected him._

"_But, you said—"_

_-I only meant that you forget everything at first. But do not mourn. If you truly wish it, you can regain back your old memories. Is this what you wish?-_

"_Of course."_

_-Then I will help you.-_

**X x X **

"What were you thinking, Spike? The minute you realized that you were being followed, you should have gone to someplace public, not go to some remote area where he can blast you to bits without restraint!" Dewbot yelled. They were in the woods, the meeting place of the Newsparks. Normally, Dewbot wouldn't be yelling at her in front of all the other Newsparks and Newspark younglings, but he was too enraged to be that considerate.

Spike looked at the floor, ashamed. She had brought trouble to Dewbot, who had enough to worry about already.

Dewbot was in worse shape this time then when she had seen him last. His paint was flecking off, and he leaned heavily on Kitt, the only Newspark that was big enough to support him. All the other Newsparks were too small, the other vehicular-based ones only getting as big as scooters and motorbikes. Spike got titters from the other Newspark adults, and sympathetic whimpers from the Newspark younglings who were mature enough to understand.

"Yes, Dewbot. I'll never do it again."

"You are grounded, missy. You are not allowed to leave Kitt's optics for the next to weeks."

"Yes, sir."

"And neither are you, Sparkplug! I know you were concerned about your spark-mate, but you should have stayed put and let the adult mechs cover this!"

"Yes, sir," Sparkplug said sullenly. If Dewbot had been in better health, Sparkplug would have had enough spitfire to at least come up with a good excuse to shorten his punishment time. But with Dewbot so ill, Sparkplug didn't have the heart to argue.

"Good." Dewbot then sighed heavily, and all the Newsparks, even the younglings, leaned forward, concerned for their sickened leader. "I'm fine now, Kitt," Dewbot said at a more reasonable sound level. "Go to your charges, then we can get down to business."

Settling into Kitt's lap and awaiting Dewbot's words, Spike opened up communications to her partner. She felt bad about keeping things from Kitt, but…there were something she needed to talk to Sparkplug about that Kitt couldn't hear. Things about the Autobots.

_Hey, Sparkplug?_ Spike transmitted to her partner. _You know those two Autobots back there? Didn't they look familiar?_

Sparkplug paused. _Not the pink one,_ he answered at length.

_Well, yes, not her. But the yellow one did._

_Yeah. That's kind of weird._

_That makes three Autobots that we've probably seen before. What are the chances?_

Neither of them said what didn't need to be said. They didn't have to talk about the gaping hole they felt each night, as if something important had been taken away from them. They didn't have to talk about how they mourned after that important part. They didn't talk about how much they wanted that part back again. They didn't talk about how, even with each other, those missing parts made them feel incomplete.

"My fellow Newsparks," Dewbot began, "the Cybertronians have approached us with a proposition…a proposition that may very well mean the life of both our groups, or the death of them…"

**X x X**

"Cut the crap, Simmons," Will said at length, pacing around the room. They had tracked down the former Sector Seven agent, and had "invited" him for a chat over at the Autobot base. Even under these situations, even with three very angry mechs glaring down at him, Simmons still retained a smug look on his face, and practically lounged on his seat.

"Look, Lennox," Simmons said, putting the tips of his fingers and leaning forward. "I can honestly—" Ironhide made a disbelieving noise.

"_Honestly,_" Simmons resumed, "say that I have had no part in what 'The Sector' is up to. If I did, I would have told them to name it differently. Honestly. They're just inviting investigations." He leaned back just then, and crossed his arms with a self-satisfied expression.

"But you do know about them."

"Maybe yes. Maybe no."

"Let's just blast the slagger," Ironhide said irritably. Jazz was inclined to agree.

"Okay, okay, okay," Simmons said amusedly, putting up his hands. "Let's not get violent here. I'll tell you about The Sector, if you'll just tell me one thing."

"And what is that?" Will asked quietly, as if daring Simmons to ask what Will knew he was going to ask.

"Are you guardians of our race, or guardians of yours?" Will itched for his revolver.

"We are guardians of both our races, of course," Optimus said as calmly as he could.

"Those kids would beg to differ," Simmons said. His smile had decidedly become acidic. It was almost as if he was…blaming them. "One even held that Allspark for you, and now he's six feet under. Were you just guarding him for his sake, or for the sake of the Allspark? For your sake, for your purposes?"

A shocked silence met his words. Ploughing right through the thick tension in the air, Simmons lightly added, "Either way, you guys suck as guardians."

Ironhide would have flattened him right there, not even bothering with the cannons, had not Will quelled him with a glare.

"Just tell us all you know."

**X x X**

"Heard you scared the spark out of some poor youngling, Bee," Sideswipe said to his fellow Autobot-in-trouble. Bee, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker were ordered to the brig on punishment detail. Bee figured all the Autobots knew what he had done to be there…though he really did not want to know what the twins did this time around. "And a femme too."

"Aw, big-bad-Bee picking on small femme scouts," Sunstreaker said, joining in the teasing. Bee knew what they were doing. They were trying to lighten up the situation, but Bee could not bring himself to laugh it off as they wanted him to.

"Her…her hologram," he muttered. There was silence for the briefest of moments.

"We know, Bee," Sideswipe said gently, surprising Bumblebee. "We know."

**X x X**

_You know him,_ said a small voice._ He's been missing you for a long time now._

Spike got up. She wanted to see the big yellow 'bot again. _Sparkplug,_ she said, prodding her spark-mate in his recharge. _I need to do something for a bit._

…_You're going to see the big yellow one, aren't you?_

_Come with?_

_Nah, someone's gotta cover your aft. You are aware that we will be grounded for the next decade if you're caught?_

_Who says I'm gonna get caught?_

_Fine. Be careful. And try to get back before Kitt wakes up._

Spike carefully got up, trying not to make too much noise so as to not alert Kitt. The Escalade, like many other Newsparks, recharged in his alt-form. Only Sparkplug and Spike slept in bipedal form. Thanking the fact that Kitt was a heavy sleeper, she tiptoed out of the temporary base. She knew that what she was doing was inviting trouble—going out, by herself, in the dark, to see some strange mech—but she needed to see the big yellow 'bot. A small voice in her head told her so.

She had to stifle a giggle at the thought of her having to say to Dewbot, "But a small voice told me to do it!"

Silently walking out of the Newspark's gathering place, she didn't go into alt-form until she hit the road. "Well, little voice, where do I find the yellow monstrosity?" she asked into the dark, not really expecting an answer.

She still got one: a brief image of something yellow wandering around a deserted part of Mission City.

"Oh. Okay. Thanks, I guess."

**X x X**

_Time for a midnight run._ A small voice had told him. Bumblebee ignored the voice at first; he was still on punishment detail, after all. But the voice had been insistent, so he found himself in a deserted area of Mission City, in between the woods and the wreckage.

He felt only a small bit of surprise to find that the white youngling had followed him. After all, he had been followed before, and under equally strange circumstances.

The youngling stood a little away from him, her in bipedal form and him in alt-form. Though wary, she was curious, and she was regarding him in a strange way.

"Have we met before?" the youngling asked. Bumblebee was surprised.

"I doubt it. Why do you ask that?"

"Because I dream of you."

That was as far as their conversation went before a blast landed in the space between them.

**X x X**

Going by the pain she felt shooting up her wires, Spike was pretty sure that her leg had been hurt. She coughed as dirt and debris flew in all directions before settling in the blast's aftermath. Clearing her optics, she was somewhat surprised to see the yellow 'bot crouched over her in bipedal form, protecting her from most of the blast. His armour was cracked, but all his attention was focused on her.

"Are you okay?" the Autobot asked.

"My leg—I think it got hurt."

"Are you able to transform?"

Spike tried, and screeched. "That would be a no," she said weakly. "What _was_ that?"

The Autobot looked around, scanning the area. Spike knew from the look on his faceplate that he could find nothing. He could sense nothing. "I do not know."

"Kitt's gonna _kill_ me," Spike whimpered, favouring her leg. "If Dewbot doesn't first."

"Do you have a medic?"

"We have Fury-9, and some other Consolebots."

"Then I'll take you to them." Gently, as if he was used to doing it, the Autobot picked her up, gathering her in his arms. Spike was surprised only for a minute, before settling in his grasp. She tried to ignore the fact that she felt a little like a doll. "Where are you guys staying for the night?"

"I can show you. You might wanna duck in there though," she said, gesturing to the woods a little distance from them. "Aren't you supposed to be robots-in-disguise? This," she said, pointedly looking up and down his bipedal form, "is not hiding."

The Autobot turned towards the woods.

"Hey," she said to the Autobot, poking his chest-plate. "I'm Spike. What's your name?"

"Bumblebee."

"What kind of name is that?"

"What kind of name is Kitten?"

"Touché."

**X x X**

"What did I say about the big ones?"

"Well, I just wanted to test—"

"No big ones! None!"

"…Well, technically, there was a small one there."

"Just get back to base!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers.

**Part Seven:** In which The Sector makes its move. "No one's going to know what they've done. There won't be a trace left of us."

Favours

**7: The Sector**

"So you've actually had contact with humans?"

"Yes."

"Dewbot told us to never come into contact with humans. He said that they were dangerous. That's why we had to move all the time, so they'd never find out about us." Spike nestled in the crook of Bumblebee's arm. She drew the line at cuddling up next to the big 'bot, even though it really was that comfortable, being there. It felt right, somehow. Not the he-is-my-spark-mate kind of right. That was Sparkplug's area, and Sparkplug's alone. It was more like…more like…whatever. Spike could figure it out later.

"Some are, but some are different, like all sentient beings. Some are kind. There were two humans who were like siblings to me." Bumblebee said it with such fondness that Spike felt a sudden urge to know more about these humans. It was too bad that she didn't pick up on the hint of sadness, and it was very bad that she didn't really know about a little thing called tact.

"Were? What happened to them?"

Silence met her query, and after an awkward pause, she knew that she had asked the wrong question.

"Sorry," she muttered. "Dewbot and Fury-9 and Kitt and even Sparkplug say how I always ask the wrong questions."

"No, your question…is perfectly alright," Bumblebee said with some difficultly, shifting his grip on her as he ducked another tree branch. "It's the answer that is hard."

"We don't have to talk about it…if you don't want to."

"It's been five years, eleven months, three weeks and two days now," Bumblebee said sadly, speaking almost to himself.

"I'm sure that…wherever they are, they don't blame you," she said suddenly. Bumblebee stopped in his tracks, and looked at her. She looked back up at him solemnly. He was about to reply, when the sounds of weapon fire, followed by screams, filled the area.

**X x X **

Silence met Simmons' words.

"And you didn't think," Will finally managed to say through clenched teeth. "You didn't think that we had the right to know this?"

Simmons just shrugged. "Hey, you're the highly advanced alien type things," he said carelessly. "Why do you need anyone to tell you anything?" The tension radiated in the air as everyone looked at Simmons with anger and hatred. "Yeah. I'm gonna go now," he announced, and did just that. No one moved. Not even Ironhide. They were pretty sure that if they did, Simmons would, in one way or another, end up as splatter. And whilst none in the room would have minded, they really didn't need another national fiasco. Not when they had a much bigger problem.

Will let out an unsteady breath as soon as Simmons left. "Optimus," he started.

"I know. We must contact Dewbot immediately."

But they were already too late.

**X x X **

Sparkplug awoke to screams and shouts and flickering lights. Waking with the thought that Spike's escape must have been found out, he bolted upright, saying, "Kitt, it isn't what it looks like—"

"Where's Spike?" Kitt demanded. But his voice wasn't angry. It was urgent, and was laced with panic.

"What's wrong Kitt? What's happening?" Sparkplug had to yell through the pandemonium. The Newsparks were screaming; something was moving swiftly through the woods. The glaring lights were coming. It was coming in their direction.

"Something's here. They're taking Newsparks." Kitt yanked Sparkplug to his feet. "Did they take her, Sparkplug? Where is she?"

"No, Kitt, they didn't—"

"There's one over there!" a voice said, coming from the direction of the lights.

"Run, Sparkplug," Kitt commanded.

"But, but what about—"

"Sparkplug! If there's one time in your life that you obey your elders, let it be this time!" Kitt gave him a forceful shove towards the road. "Make sure that Spike is okay!" Kitt added, knowing that without that motivation, Sparkplug wouldn't leave his fellows behind. Kitt turned to face their attackers, and Sparkplug, though all his instincts told him not to go, did as Kitt ordered him to.

_Spike…have to find Spike. I'll make sure that she's okay, and then we'll come and—_and what? sneered his doubts and his fears. Two younglings going up whatever it was that was hunting them down?

Sparkplug broke through the forest. A glaring light blinded him on his right. Looking, he caught a glimpse of their attackers—humans, in black suits. "There's one!" one of them yelled. Sparkplug made a forceful twist, transforming at a speed that made him wince, and tore into the road.

No good. The black cars came after him. They were shooting at him. Their pulse guns were shooting the equivalent of _lightning_ at him. He weaved blindly in the road, barely missing the shocks that left sparks crackling in the asphalt, but no other evidence. _No one's going to know what they've done. There won't be a trace left of us. We are so—_

He changed lanes too early, and one of the sparks grazed his front tire, immobilizing it. Screeching to a stop, he transformed, the sparks going up his circuits making transformation painful. Left with no choice, he raised his cannon at the attackers.

"Aw, little baby robot wants to play," mocked one of them, aiming the pulse gun at him. They surrounded him, bringing with them a heavy black net. Sparkplug readied his cannon.

Suddenly, a look of horror overcame their faces, just as the moonlight was covered by a large shadow that swallowed their frames. "Dammit. We are so fucked," muttered one of the men. Sparkplug turned around the same time that the men in black pelted away.

His first thought was: _Damn that's a big cannon._ The second thought was:_ That paintjob is an eyesore. _The third thought was: _Why is Spike…being held like a doll?_ It was the sparks getting to his processor, of course, because in the next second, he blacked out.

**X x X **

"Sparkplug! Sparkplug!" Spike yelled to her fallen spark-mate, wriggling out of Bumblebee's grasp and landing on the asphalt. She yelped when she fell on her already abused leg. Bumblebee picked her up again, holding her more firmly this time. She tried again to get to her spark-mate, but Bumblebee was not going to let her fall. So she settled for yelling at him. "What happened? What did they do?" she demanded. Bumblebee kneeled next to the red youngling.

"Charge weapons," he hissed, upon seeing the little blue sparks that danced mockingly on the youngling's relatively thin armour. "It must have overloaded his processor. He's in stasis lock—equivalent of a human coma," he added, seeing Spike's confused look. Then her look turned to one of fear. "Ratchet can get him out of it," he added hastily, thinking _Way to comfort a youngling, Bee._

"Bumblebee. This is Optimus. Come in."

"Bumblebee here."

"Bumblebee, I don't know what you are doing out there, but the Newsparks need assistance. Our emergency message to Dewbot was interrupted by the Sector. We are already on our way, but you are much closer to where they—"

"Optimus, it's too late. They've already struck."

On instinct, Bumblebee covered Spike's hearing processors as Ironhide's voice could be heard over the communication link, cursing. Spike only gave him a look that said, _Please. I've heard much worse._

"Have you apprehended any of them?"

"No, sir. The ones I've encountered got scared off."

"Have you found any Newsparks who managed to escape?"

"Two younglings, sir, both in need of medical care. One's leg was hurt in a blast, and the other got grazed with a charge weapon."

There was a pause on the other end of the line as the adult mechs processed the words "younglings." "Do what you can. We'll be there shortly."

"The Sector?" Spike asked quietly after a while, afraid to ask the question to which she knew no safe answers lay. Bumblebee could only nod. "Sector Seven," she continued, her voice full of fear and dread. "Spark killers. Murderers." She looked up at him. "Check the woods. There can still be more of us!"

"But—"

"Please! I'll stay with Sparkplug." Her look continued to beg him long after her words were spoken. _Please, please, please._

Bumblebee gently moved the younglings over to the side of the road, being extremely careful with the one in stasis lock. Ratchet would have told him not to move the youngling…but the risks of them being caught out in the open by a moving vehicle outweighed the risks of moving them to a relatively safer location. Bumblebee briefly touched Spike's head as he transferred his frequency over to her. "This is my frequency. If any of them come back, call me right away, got it?"

"Got it."

As Bumblebee turned away, he didn't even register the thought that trudged its way from the deepest corners of his processors. It was the thought that:_ Unless it was a life-or-death situation, I never really could say no to either Sam or Mikaela. Ever._

**X x X**

The forest was in ruins. Trees had bent and their remains were scattered everywhere. There were no traces of the Newsparks, except…

There was the fearsome one there; the one that had threatened them in the alley after they had scared Spike. His optics looked up unseeingly into the sky, and sparks jumped from wire to wire. He had taken a full blast from a charge weapon.

He was only in stasis lock…but unlike Sparkplug, who had only been grazed by the weapon, Kitten's stasis lock could last a long, long time.

_They weren't interested in the big ones,_ Bumblebee realized as he looked sympathetically at Kitt. _That's why they left us alone. That's why they didn't waste their ammo on a secluded area with only one youngling. Because I was there._

And…and he recalled how the Sector had run at the sight of him. Bumblebee had thought that it was the sight of his large weaponry that had scared them. But that couldn't have been the case. They certainly blasted Kitt without much thought. It was because…because…

_They recognized me. They knew I was an Autobot._ Bumblebee could only bitterly think of them as cowards.

**X x X**

"Can you heal them, Ratchet?" Optimus asked gravely. Ratchet looked up from his scans. Spike winced at the tirade she knew—_she somehow knew—_was coming.

"Slag it all, Optimus! I'm a medic, not a miracle worker! We don't have the materials here to fix her leg, let alone get those two out of stasis lock!"

"If we bring them back to the base?"

"Well, then we'd have a different story—"

"We'll go," Spike said quietly, knowing what they were struggling with. "We'll go to your base." Her optics looked into those of Ratchet and Optimus, and they were struck by the familiarity…with…with something they just couldn't put a finger on. "We trust you." She then looked at her comrades, who were quite out of it for the time being. "Well, I trust you," she amended, and then rushed her words to get her meaning across. "But I think that I can safely say that when I say I trust you, that I trust you with them, so in extension, we trust you." Her optics looked up to meet theirs again.

Optimus looked at the youngling, her rambling sticking something deep within him. _And may we be worthy of that trust,_ he thought, the memory of two other younglings—albeit human younglings—placing their trust in him coming back to him, unbidden and still painful.

He nodded. "Autobots, transform and roll out." And with a purpose for the trailer attached to his alt-form, Optimus took the Newsparks back to base, heralded by a very cranky medic, an angered weapons specialist, a saddened lieutenant, and a scout who was very, very anxious about the precious cargo that Optimus' trailer was holding.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** do not own Transformers.

**Part eight:** In which there is underage consumption of high-grade, and in which Bumblebee has a serious mommy moment. "Ratchet could only put a hand over his face plate. 'And Autobots wonder why we can't have younglings,' he muttered."

**Author acknowledges:** Karategal, for the incident in her fic "Nightmare" that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker refer to. Recommended read!

* * *

Favours

**8: Memories**

Sparkplug came out of his stasis slowly. _Leave me alone. Want to recharge more,_ he thought, though saying the words required too much effort.

"Youngling," said an exasperated voice, as though it had been calling him for a good long while now. "Wake up this instant!" _Fine, fine, fine._

Reluctantly, Sparkplug opened his optics, and sat up. He looked next to him to see a…a foot? That was strange, but not that alarming…yet. Sparkplug's gaze followed the foot up and up and up. Green optics met mildly amused, mildly irritated blue optics. Five seconds passed as Sparkplug's still-waking processors caught up with the information that his optics were sending him.

With a startled cry, Sparkplug dove back under the covers of the recharge berth.

"I think you scared him, Ratchet," said another voice concernedly.

"Don't blame the youngling, Ratch," said another voice, this one amused. "I'd react the same way if you were the first thing I saw when I got out of stasis-induced recharge."

"Then next time I'll make sure that you stay in stasis, Jazz," the one called Ratchet grumped.

"Sparkplug?" asked a voice. Sparkplug came back out. Spike was hovering next to him.

"Spike!" He reached for his spark-mate, who hugged him fiercely.

"You scared the heck out of me, you bolt-head!" she told him. "Ratchet got you out of stasis _hours_ ago but you still wouldn't wake up."

"Spike, where are we? What happened to the Newsparks? Where is everybody?"

Spike couldn't look him in the optics. "They got taken, Sparkplug."

"Kitt?" Spike looked sadly behind her. Sparkplug followed her gaze until he saw Kitt, lying unseeingly into the ceiling.

"He got hit with a full blast, but Ratchet says that, given a couple of days, he should be up again," Spike said quietly. Sparkplug swallowed his anger.

"Where are we?" he repeated.

"Autobot base. They tried helping us, but they came too late."

Sparkplug looked around. There were three mechs there, easily as tall as most human houses. There were two yellow ones, and a silver one. The first yellow one he identified as the one that had chased Spike around Mission City. The other two they had seen at the barn and…and…elsewhere. He couldn't remember where.

"You'll save them, won't you?" Sparkplug asked frantically.

"We will do all we can, we promise," the one called Ratchet said evenly. Sparkplug's optics narrowed.

"That's not an answer."

"Our leader, Optimus, is discussing possible tactics as we speak," Ratchet continued. He didn't want to tell the younglings that possible a possible rescue mission could be hindered because of some slagging red tape—not that that would stop the Autobots anyway, but it would slow down things a little. Sparkplug gave a harrumph, but he figured that he had to be satisfied with that answer…for now.

"Sparkplug, these are Bumblebee, Jazz, and Ratchet," Spike said, making a late introduction. "Guys, this is Sparkplug."

"And now that both of you are awake, I believe that some food is in order," Ratchet said.

"I'll get some energon," Bumblebee offered.

"Wish I could help you, little buddy," the one called Jazz said, "but I'm supposed to report to Optimus within the hour. The big mechs in the office just wanted to see how our guests were doing." He turned towards the younglings. "So what's crackin' little bitches?" he asked, grinning broadly.

All the conscious mechs in the room were hit with a sudden wave of déjà vu. None of them spoke.

Jazz gave them an affectionate pat on the shoulders, being careful with touching a still-recovering Sparkplug, and exited the room. Bumblebee left soon after him, and Ratchet started busying himself with Kitt.

Spike stood next to Sparkplug's recharge berth, just holding his hands. Both younglings tried ignoring the mechs that came by to stop and gawk at them. Some made small talk with Ratchet, viewing them from the corner of their optics, others passed briefly, and still others came, stopped, and stared for a good, long minute.

"What's with them?" Sparkplug asked irritably as the tenth mech passed.

"Excuse them," Ratchet said. "They've not seen a youngling since the time that Bumblebee was one."

"Doesn't mean that they can make us a circus attraction," Sparkplug muttered.

"So it's true then? That Cybertronians can't make new younglings?" Spike asked.

Ratchet sighed. "Regrettably, it is true. One of the last younglings that the Allspark left us with was Bumblebee."

"We're the last, too," Spike said. Ratchet turned to look at her. "I mean, we're the only younglings of the Newsparks," she amended. "The Allspark made mechs that matured quickly into adults, and they gave birth to sparklings. We're the only younglings, and no one really knows why."

"But usually mechs tend to mature quickly—relatively," Ratchet said. "Our sparklings grew swiftly into younglinghood, and then a little more slowly into adulthood. Then they stay until adulthood until their sparks expire."

"Not for the ones that are sparked," Spike informed him. "According to Fury-9, from what she's been seeing from the Newsparks, the sparked sparklings stay sparklings for a long time. She says that perhaps the sparked ones tend to age a little like humans do in their growing years before hitting adulthood, but over a much longer lifespan."

Sparkplug spoke up. "There are some adult mechs that said that the only reason you wanted the Allspark to make more younglings was that they could grow up quickly and become soldiers quickly."

Ratchet paused in his work. He knew that most of the Decepticons gave off the idea, but had the Autobots really looked so bad to the Newsparks? The solemn gaze that the two younglings were giving him said yes, yes they did.

**X x X**

Sparkplug was pronounced well enough to walk within a few hours, and both younglings were requesting an exploration of the Ark just a few minutes after that. Knowing that the younglings wanted a distraction from their worries, Ratchet let them.

Under strict orders/threats from Ratchet, who didn't want their guests to feel awkward, the Autobots were told to not gawk at the youngings. Bumblebee hovered over the both of them, ignoring the whispered callings of 'mother bee' that the mechs in the corners were giving him, stopping only when he was ordered by Optimus to recharge—Bumblebee hadn't had any recharge since he had first chased Spike around in Mission City.

Bumblebee was as reluctant to leave Spike and Sparkplug as they were to see him leave. There was something comfortable about the yellow 'bot that the other Autobots didn't have…even if the talkative one called Bluestreak, their temporary guardian and tour guide, was very friendly. That being said, they soon gave their temporary guardians the slip and headed to mess hall, which was empty.

"I'm thirsty, Sparkplug," Spike said, trying to dispel the gloom that she and Sparkplug were carrying. Dewbot and Fury-9 and the others would be alright. They were sure of it.

She poured herself a glass from a rather large bottle labelled "high-grade." She didn't know what it was, but it did sound good. She poured Sparkplug one as well, and both younglings headed to the Autobot rec room, where the noise of the gigantic television screen muted their entrance. They propped themselves up on one of the side tables and talked quietly with one another.

Their presence was made known during a lull in between action scenes. The Autobots heard the distinct sound of a cannon charging. "What in Cybertron is—" Sunstreaker's words were cut off as they caught sight of the two younglings, one sitting woozily on the table and the other standing upright and glaring at them, the contents of spilled energon glasses surrounding them.

"Hey, has anyone see the—" asked Bluestreak, the unlucky mech who had been placed in charge of watching the troublesome younglings. He was forced to duck as Sparkplug sent a shot his way.

"Oh slag," said the Autobots in unison, ducking as a distinctively drunk youngling opened fire.

If the younglings didn't kill them first, Bumblebee would.

**X x X**

Bumblebee stretched. It felt so good to recharge, even if it was for a few short human hours. He even believed that he dreamed, and though it saddened him to remember that the dream was about Sam and Mikaela—again—he was gratified in the knowledge that in the dream, they were all happy together, racing around under a beautiful, beautiful sky.

He turned into the noisy rec room…and was greeted by a bizarre sight.

Sparkplug had the occupants of the room ducking for cover as he let loose his cannon in all directions. The blasts were relatively harmless; not even the walls showed where they were hit. But Bumblebee figured that the adult mechs were too busy figuring out a way to stop him to pay attention to such detail. Spike was perched next to her gun-toting comrade, and cheerfully waved to Bumblebee, though her balance was seriously threatened by the movement.

"Hi, Bee-bot," Spike said, leaping off the table. She staggered over to Bumblebee, somehow missing all of Sparkplug's haphazard blasts, giggling the whole way. Horrified, he caught her before she fell to the ground. Turning his attention to Sparkplug, Bumblebee easily disarmed the shaky youngling and gathered him up with his other arm.

Sparkplug gloomily tried wriggling out of Bumblebee's grasp, but motor control had gone a long time ago. He settled for getting into a more comfortable position before shutting his optics grumpily. Spike could only give a final giggle before collapsing completely in Bee's arms, her head lolling on one side before her optics shuttered close in recharge. Bee made sure that they were secure in his grip before turning to the other Autobots.

"_What have you __**done**__?"_ Bumblebee asked, the words coming out slowly and harshly, making them flinch. "I thought I asked you to watch them."

They could give no reply as Bee disgustedly shook his head and took the younglings out of the room, leaving with, "I _will_ be dealing with you later."

Sideswipe was the first to speak up, getting up from behind the couch where he had ducked for cover. "Is it just me, or am I having a serious case of déjà vu?"

Sunstreaker answered his twin. "Bee reacted just as well as Ironhide did when we accidentally let the little yellow guy watch that horror movie eons ago." All the Autobots gave a collective shudder at those horrible, horrible memories.

**X x X**

"Those processor-defective glitches did _what?_"

"Somehow let the younglings get into high-grade, Ratchet," Bee said, cooled down now that Ratchet was venting his anger. He had brought Spike and Sparkplug to the medic, full of questions as to whether or not high-grade was toxic to their bodies. Ratchet had, after calming Bee down, managed to get the whole story. Bee was amazed that he contained himself for that long.

Ratchet sighed suddenly, apparently too tired to be dealing with all…with all _this._ "I'll think of some appropriate means of retribution later," he muttered quietly, though Bee still heard. But for now, Ratchet could only put a hand over his face plate. "And Autobots wonder why we can't have younglings," he muttered, shaking his head in an ever-suffering gesture.

"What now, Ratchet? What'll happen to Spike and Sparkplug?"

"Oh, the only thing to do is just to let them sleep it off…though they will have their own version of a 'hangover' when they wake up."

Bee nodded. He had dealt with that before, both with Sam and Mikaela. Come to think of it, Spike and Sparkplug had reacted in similar ways when slightly intoxicated. "Nothing I can't handle. Is it normal, that they are recharging in bipedal form? We usually sleep in alt-form."

Ratchet shrugged. "Newspark anatomy is a little different from ours. This could be normal for them."

Spike started muttering incoherently in her recharge. The adult mechs turned to look at her, before Ratchet turned to Bumblebee. "I take it that you'll be…?"

"I choose to stay with the younglings."

"Very well. It's time I talk to some mechs about proper care and handling of youngling guests."

"Don't do too much excessive damage to them, Ratchet. We probably still need them," Bumblebee said, somewhat reluctantly.

"No _excessive_ damage will be done, that I promise you." And with that, Ratchet left the med bay, and Bumblebee settled himself next to the recharge berths of his charges. It felt…right, watching them. Watching over them. Behind the shutters, Sparkplug's optics alternately dimmed and brightened, as though he was angry at the early recharge and was trying to fight his way out of the drunken haze. Bumblebee had to hold in a chuckle. He was a fighter, this one. A handful, he was sure of it. Though…though something about him struck Bumblebee with the impression that he was more mature than his white counterpart…more confident and steady.

_Mikaela was the majestic cliff that stood proudly in the rising sun, solid and confident. Sam was the water, the ever-changing water, laughing and flowing, flowing a little ways but always coming back to the cliff. And Bumblebee was the sky, the vast sky that watched over them both. _

"Favours, Bee," Spike muttered, drawing his attention over to the youngling. Bee was somewhat spooked in that Spike's optics were only half-shuttered, clicking drowsily. She giggled, turning her head over to the other side. Bee barely made out the muffled, sing-song words, "Mystical bond between man and machine…"

"What," Bee whispered, after getting over his shock. "What did you just say?"

"I'll drive, you shoot," Sparkplug muttered in his recharge, as if in answer to Spike's statement. Bee's head whipped towards him, but Sparkplug had already turned on his side, facing away from him. Looking back at Spike, Bee found himself staring into the very open optics of the youngling.

"So you're my guardian, huh?" she said drowsily, pleasantly. She was smiling at him. She extended out her arm, and Bee, with a trembling hand, enveloped hers. Her hand was so tiny, and so warm.

Without knowing exactly why, Bee leaned away from the younglings, and whispered into the darkened room, "Guys? Is that—"

"Bumblebee?" Jazz asked, softly knocking on the med bay door. "Optimus has called a meeting." Upon seeing the expression on Bumblebee's face plate, he asked, "You okay, kid? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"I think I might have," Bumblebee muttered shakily, getting onto his feet and brushing by Jazz, but not before giving a long, aching look at the med bay door. The younglings were in deep recharge now. It was as if their strange 'conversation' had never happened.

He thought that he could hear a small voice, mildly irritated, telling him: _How many times do I have to tell you that __**it **__**is.**_ But…but it could have just been his imagination.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Part nine: **in which there are more problems and politics. "Had they been wrong, all these years? Had hiding from humans and Cybertronians alike damned them?"

* * *

Favours

**9: Politics**

"They want to _what_?" Ironhide hissed.

"The leaders of the Sector wish to…meet with us, as a gesture of goodwill," Optimus repeated dryly.

"Oh, I'll give 'em a meeting, alright," Ironhide rumbled, bringing his cannons online. There were several murmurs of assent from other mechs in the room. "After what they've done, they have the _gall_ to—"

"Nevertheless, we cannot deny a meeting with them on the basis of their crimes, and neither can we demand the return of the Newsparks," Optimus said grimly from the other side of the meeting room. "We could only bring them to official punishment if they made any actions against the Autobots…which they have been careful to avoid. The Newsparks aren't Autobots, and to make matters worse, on record, the Newsparks do not exist. If we were to demand their return, thus revealing them, at best they would exist as…_the property…_of Sector Seven, and would be confiscated likewise."

"But, Optimus, why would they call a meeting in the first place?" Ratchet asked.

"Perhaps they wish to remind us that they are in control…or perhaps they believe that we are ignorant of their actions."

"No, sir," Bumblebee said, speaking up for the first time ever since the meeting started. "They saw and recognized me as an Autobot. They know that we know."

"Then they wish to establish the fact that they have the Newsparks, and there is nothing we can do about it," Optimus said coldly.

"What should we do then, boss-mech? We can't let the little dudes become some Sector experiment," Jazz burst in.

"We won't, Jazz," he answered. "If the Newsparks do not exist, then their disappearance does not exist as well."

"Yes, a fact that the Sector has used to its advantage."

"And that we may use to our advantage as well. Here is what I propose we do to rescue our Newspark cousins…"

**X x X**

Spike woke up in the darkened room, with whispers of dreams lingering long after dream world had fled. The first thing she noticed was that her head was _pounding,_ and she winced at the voices that were reverberating around the room. The second thing she noticed was the nagging feeling she had on her mind, as if she forgot something very important.

Now what was it she had to remember? She rubbed the sides of her processors, trying to coax the memory out, but halted when she heard a sharp sigh of exasperation.

"For the last time, you're still healing, and it's a _no,_" she heard Ratchet's voice say emphatically. "Yes, you've overcome expectations by coming out of stasis lock this early—nothing short of a pure miracle—but moving around, especially in a _battlefield_ is just pushing it."

"But they are my family—you don't understand—" She heard Kitt growl. She broke into a grin. Kitt was back!

"What _you_ don't understand, my dear Newspark, is that I will offline your legs if you continue to insist on coming."

Kitt gave a growl of frustration. Then, Arcee's calm voice penetrated through the tension.

"Kitt, we will get back all the members of your family. I swear on my spark."

Spike fully expected Kitt to retort with a Kitt-like answer, something like, "The word of a Cybertronian is as worthless as—" And then she censored the rest of the words, even if they were in her head.

What Kitt said instead was: "I trust your words." Spike's optics widened, and a noise on the recharge berth next to her alerted her that Sparkplug was awake, and was likely very surprised as well.

"Very well," Ratchet said after a shocked silence. Then he and Arcee left the room. There was another pause.

"Spike, Sparkplug. I know you guys are awake," Kitt said. Spike and Sparkplug made their way out of the recharge berths, nursing their still-pounding processors. Still, that didn't dampen Sparkplug's spirit.

" 'I trust your words,' huh Kitt?" Sparkplug said teasingly as they approached Kitt's very, very large recharge berth. Their grins faltered as they looked at Kitt. He was definitely worse for wear. His armour was cracked in several places, with the vulnerable wires completely exposed. They could see where Ratchet had repaired him, but these metallic 'stitches' that were still leaking a small bit of energon looked like they would burst with even the slightest movement. No, Kitt wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. Sparkplug mustered up his good humour to try and dispel some of the gloom. "I think that _some-bot's_ got a crush on a particular pink—"

"Well, we _are_ online, aren't we?" Kitt said pointedly, though Spike was interested in seeing that all the energon went up to Kitt's faceplate—a Newspark equivalent of a human blush. "That does breed some trust."

"You're really not going to go with them?" Spike asked. She knew the answer, but she just wanted to make sure.

"Can't," Kitt grumped. "That 'bot—Ratchet, I believe—threatened to offline my legs. Thing is, he never turned them _online_ in the first place. Added to the fact that I can barely move…and someone confiscated my weapons. I'm more a liability than a help." The younglings winced at Kitt's confession. They knew that that was a bitter truth for Kitt to accept, let alone admit. Then Kitt looked at them intently. "But…both of you wish to go."

"We have to, Kitt," Spike said solemnly. He nodded, looking thoughtfully at the other side of the room.

"I know." He then looked at them. "This is what the Autobots are planning to do…or at least what Ratchet told me that they were going to do. The large ones are planning to meet with the slaggers—the Sector—as they requested. Meanwhile, the smaller ones will masquerade as Newsparks, infiltrate the Sector base, and rescue all the Newsparks. That's why only the smaller ones can go—Newsparks are generally smaller than their Cybertronian counterparts.

"Masquerade as Newsparks? What's that going to achieve?"

"The Autobots…are walking on a thin political line," Kitt spat out in disdain. "If they perform the rescue in full-force, it will look as though they attacked the Sector without reason. We…being in hiding…we don't really exist."

Another silence greeted these words. Had they been wrong, all these years? Had hiding from humans and Cybertronians alike damned them?

It was too late to ponder or to regret those things now. Right now, they needed to get their family back.

"When do they leave?" Sparkplug asked determinedly.

"In the next hour. I suggest that you be quiet about it though," Kitt said with some of his old dry humour back. "Ratchet-the-Hatchet gave orders that you two wouldn't be going—and his aim rivals those of most legendary warriors."

**X x X**

"Coming, Bumblebee?" asked Arcee's teasing voice as the Autobots were gearing up. Bumblebee was the last 'bot left in the weapons room. The now-blue Ducati was leaning against the door with a smirk on her face.

"Huh?" Bumblebee snapped out of his daze. "Yeah, sure Arcee. Just…just go ahead without me. I'll be right with you."

"Slowpoke." Arcee left the weapons room. Bumblebee rubbed a spot on his shoulder thoughtfully and unconsciously. His Autobot insignia had been covered up. The Autobots going on this mission were all painted, and had all taken different alt-forms. Bumblebee was now a 2008 Beetle with an attractive shade of green.

Bumblebee's thoughts drifted back to the two younglings in the med bay. _Could they…could they…no. It defies all logic._

He remembered Spike's words: "Have we met before? Because I dream of you."

But it was too much to hope.

And, speaking of the younglings…

"I know you're there, you two," he proclaimed to the seemingly empty room. "It's just me. Come on out."

A frustrated sound came to his hearing processors, and he smirked underneath his battle mask. The two scamps reluctantly came out, coming in front of him resignedly. They seemed to have recovered well and quickly from their hangover.

"Aren't you two supposed to be in recharge?"

"We want to help," said Sparkplug.

"I know you do. But this isn't a game. It's too danger—"

"We're coming, whether you like it or not," Sparkplug said challengingly. Bumblebee looked over to Spike. She looked as determined as her partner sounded.

_Unless it was a life-or-death situation…even __**if**__ it was a life-or-death situation…sometimes, sometimes I could never say no to Sam or Mikaela. Not when they gave me __**the look.**_

"Fine," Bumblebee said, resigned. "But if I say run, you run. If I say duck, you duck. No questions asked, and behind me at all times, promise?"

"Promise," the two chorused.

Spike walked over to one of the weapons—one of Ironhide's cannons, nearly twice her size, and looked at it in mixed awe and well-covered fear.

"So…" she said, dragging out the word, before looking up at Bumblebee with all the innocence that a youngling could posses, "do we get to play with these?"

Bumblebee could only shake his head and respond with a firm, "No."

"But—"

"No."

**X x X**

Secretary Keller oversaw the meeting between the Sector and the Autobots. From the few details he had gleaned from Will and Maggie, he had a feeling that there was going to be a need for a referee in this meeting, or else someone was going to end up as unattractive wallpaper.

The leader of the Sector introduced himself as Dominic Johnson. He was a clean-shaven man, very professional looking, carried no weapons and no badges, and outwardly showed none of the ill-will that Simmons so blatantly portrayed. He laughed, he joked, and he even initiated a "hand-shake" with Optimus' small finger.

Optimus quickly decided that he much preferred Simmons' type of scum than Johnson's.

Johnson continued to talk cordially with them, when a small beeping noise brought everyone's attention to him.

"Ah, excuse me," he said, still smiling. He took out his cell phone. "Hello?"

The Autobots, with heightened scanners, picked up a few garbled words from the unfortunate underling on the other line. "Their big brothers are here, and they are _ticked._" Johnson paled ever so slightly. Optimus, Ratchet, and Ironhide smirked under their faceplates.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Johnson?" Optimus asked almost pleasantly.

Johnson glanced up at the Autobot leader, and a mutual, antagonistic understanding passed between them in a matter of seconds.

"There's no need to sound so worried, just take care of it," Johnson said lightly into the phone. "Use the…ice packs if you have to." He then hung up, and looked, smiling, around the room. "It's nothing," he said jovially. "My nephew gave himself a paper cut and went into a panic. He's kind of neurotic about stuff like that." Johnson shuffled the papers in front of him. "Now, where were we?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** do not own Transformers.

**Part ten:** in which there rescuing, in more ways than one. "Images went across her vision, one seamlessly after the next, clips from someone else's life. No…not someone else's life, she realized. It was her life. It was his life."

* * *

Favours

**10: Rescue**

Bumblebee hung at the tail end of the rescue party, almost guiltily hiding the two motorcycles behind his frame. He shouldn't have worried though; the rescue members were split up, and were going to infiltrate the Sector's base from different locations. Occasional transmitted messages were the only contact they had with the other Autobots.

It was just Bumblebee, Spike, and Sparkplug, and the road. All their holograms were in place. Bumblebee was shocked when Spike had used Sam's form again, but his shock had increased tenfold when Sparkplug had used Mikaela's. The shock and sadness held his vocal processors in check.

As for the younglings…they were very quiet. Maybe it was their concern for their family. Or maybe it was the—not exactly fear, but something like—of a battlefield. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was the fear of the consequences of not winning. Sam and Mikaela had often been like that. Too frightened, or too ashamed, to talk before a scuffle between the Autobots and the Decepticons occurred. Too frightened and too ashamed of their weakness. It made them easy targets. Sam's connection to the Allspark made them irresistible targets. And yet…and yet they still chose to be out there, with him. Bumblebee hoped fervently that he wasn't making the same mistake again.

The silence was deafening.

_They are here. They are waiting. They have missed you so much. Talk to them._

About what? Bumblebee felt like asking.

_Say anything. The boy will handle the rest._

"So…any reason why you guys chose those holograms?" Something in Sparkplug shuttered close, as though the question insulted him in some way. Spike was likewise annoyed, but more open to the question that her reserved spark-mate.

"No particular reason," she said lightly. "Fury-9 just taught us how to log on to the Internet, while at the same time putting parental security on certain sites." Bumblebee held back a laugh, especially when Sparkplug, insulted, muttered,

"As if we'd _ever—_" Spike went on with her tale.

"Me and Sparkplug were just browsing through human newspapers, and it showed their picture. And—and it all seemed to fit, you know? Like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, like peanut butter and jelly, like fries and ketchup, like cola and Mentos, like—"

"We get the picture, Spike," Sparkplug said in an ever-suffering voice.

"Now ask us how we chose our _voices_, that's an interesting story," Spike went on, ignoring her spark-mate.

"Very well. How?"

"Well we were watching this movie, right? And Sparkplug commented on how girl's voice was pretty, and I commented on…"

Bumblebee drove on, the sound of the passing road melding in with Spike's narration and with Sparkplug's comments of "Waayyy to much information there, Spike," and he had to smile inwardly.

It felt good to do that again.

**X x X**

Jazz lead the 'distraction' team, infiltrating on the south side. Arcee lead the 'extraction' team, infiltrating the north side. Whilst Jazz's team kept the Sector Seven soldiers busy, Arcee's team would go to the holding cells and rescue the Newsparks. Bumblebee was the wild card, infiltrating on the west side. It was his job to make sure that no one got too smart and alerted the soldiers of the second team's entrance in the north; to essentially jam the communications between the soldiers in the south and the scientists in the north.

Pandemonium broke out on one side; Jazz had started the infiltration. "You two ready?" Bumblebee asked. The younglings nodded.

A transmission from Arcee prompted Bee to careen into the west side of the building, transforming as soon as the wall was cleared. Spike and Sparkplug followed after him.

Bumblebee had the element of surprise, so the straggling soldiers coming from the north side to go to the south side did not stand a chance, and were soon held up by Bumblebee and his rather large cannon. He had the younglings disarm the soldiers, take away their communication devices, and lock them in a broom closet—which, strangely enough, had steel doors like everything else in the complex.

"You don't have 'stun' on that thing?" Sparkplug said amusedly, turning the lock against the pounding of the soldiers they had locked inside.

"No," Bumblebee answered solemnly, his face plate giving off the same effect as a raised eyebrow even though he lacked that particular body part. "'Stun' to us is much more harmful to humans. What would knock down a mech could kill a completely fit human, so we must be careful. Smaller mechs have a more variety of settings…to humans, mine has one setting only."

"Which is…?"

"To kill and/or maim."

Sparkplug made a whistling noise in appreciation. "Ours only stuns—can knock out animals and humans for a little while. Really handy when you're tearing down the highway and you see a stupid deer about to ram into you from the left-hand side."

"I'd imagine."

"Guys!" Spike said urgently, looking out of one observatory window to the basement below.

"What is it, Spike?"

She looked up at them in horror. "It's Dewbot."

**X x X**

"So this one's the leader?"

"Seems like. These creepy-crawlies got really ticked when we tried to take him."

"Did you hear a noise?"

"Probably nothing. The boys upstairs will take care of it."

"Yeah. Hey, it looks like a monster vending machine."

"Files show that it _is_ a monster vending machine."

"That's just weird. Oh well. Let's get started."

"You can start by lining up by the wall," said a new voice, followed by the sound of something charging, gathering energy.

"What the—"

"You heard us. By the wall. _Now._"

**X x X**

"Spike, Sparkplug," Bumblebee said, beckoning the two to his side as he transmitted to Jazz and Arcee their location so that they could pick up Dewbot. Bumblebee held the scientists at gunpoint, and was scanning the area for a nice broom closet to shove them into.

The scene before them was eerily familiar. Dewbot was in forced stasis, on a table. Cold, spider-like arms suspended from the ceiling, their pointed ends all aiming at Dewbot's vulnerable spots. Bumblebee wanted nothing more than to—but then, the younglings were here. He didn't want to give them more nightmares than they already had.

Spike immediately turned, going to Bumblebee's side, and looked behind her when she saw that Sparkplug hadn't followed. "Sparkplug?" Sparkplug was still looking at the scientists poisonously, and then raised his cannon and shot them, knocking them unconscious.

"Sparkplug, what was that for?" Bumblebee demanded. Sparkplug looked at him.

"They threatened my adopted creator," he said defensively.

Not for the first time that day, Bumblebee was hit with a sense of déjà vu. Spike left Bumblebee's side and took Sparkplug's hands in her own, soothing his anger.

But the relatively peaceful time was short lived. There was a movement in the corner of his optic, and before Bumblebee could react, a scientist that they had somehow missed came into view with a charge weapon.

And aimed for the younglings.

Bumblebee dived, his hands going to cover the younglings as much as he could. But even though he felt a searing pain go up his hands, he still saw that some of the blast had gotten the younglings.

Much more than what Sparkplug had received just a day ago.

They went down. Bumblebee stared at the two immobile forms, unable to hold them, to check that they were okay, because the sparks that were jumping in his wires all over his hands could do more harm than good. He didn't know how much time passed.

"Bumblebee! Bumblebee, buddy, you okay?" a voice demanded. Then: "What are those two doing here?"

He looked up, and saw that Jazz and his team had disarmed the remaining scientists, and were looking at the trio in worry. They had bits of icicles dripping from various appendages—the soldiers had obviously tried to stop the infiltrators by using their liquid nitrogen machines again. The Autobots had been prepared for that though, and it looked like the cold was merely an annoyance to the rescue party.

"Jazz—" That was all he managed to get out before Jazz somehow managed to get the bigger 'bot bundled up in some insulating material—to try and isolate the after-affects of the charge weapon—and outside, mumbling something about how Ratchet was going to tear his armour from his very wires for disobeying his direct orders about the younglings, not to mention getting caught in the blast of a charge weapon. The sight of Arcee and a couple of other femmes helping up the shaken younglings and freeing the comatose Dewbot was the last Bumblebee saw of them until they reached Autobot headquarters.

**X x X**

Images went across her vision, one seamlessly after the next, clips from someone else's life.

A beat-up car in an equally shabby parking lot. A strange insignia on the steering wheel.

A terrifying midnight game of follow-the-leader.

Stars coming out from the sky, guardians coming to protect Earth.

Bumblebee—Bumblebee being taken away!

The Cube…the life-giver…the mother of Cybertron, the poison of Cybertron.

Running…no wheels…just running, running. With human legs and feet. Holding onto the Cube desperately with human hands.

"I wish to stay with the boy."

Getting sick…finding the poison inside of her body…

The fighting, the warring…never stopping.

The bullet and the favour.

The tunnel and the light.

The promise.

Dewbot and the milkshake.

Sam and Mikaela.

Spike and Sparkplug.

No…not someone else's life, she realized. It was her life. It was his life.

It was his life.

_Are you ready to come home now?_

**X x X**

Optimus, Jazz, Bumblebee, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Arcee were in the medbay, as requested by the newly mended Dewbot. Dewbot rose on the recharge berth. In surrounding beds were the other Newsparks, all on the mend. "Autobots," he said solemnly. "I suppose now we owe you."

"No, Dew-mech," Jazz said gently. "We're all family here, after all. 'S what we're supposed to do now, ain't it?"

"Family," Dewbot muttered, shaking his head. "Yes, I suppose you are right." To the Newsparks, he addressed, "too long have we hid from those who wish to embrace us. My fellow Newsparks, let us accept the proposition of the Autobots, and welcome the new age!" Tired, pained, but happy cries were his answer, Kitt's voice booming among them, though he quieted when Arcee glanced his way, instead opting for a contented smile.

"Welcome, then, brother," Optimus said gently.

"If we are all done with the theatrics," Ratchet said grumpily. "Can you all get out of my med bay _now_?"

"Aw, come on, Ratch. This is time for celebration!" Jazz said, and jokingly flinched when Ratchet reached for a tool to hit him with.

"Wait. Where are Spike and Sparkplug?" Dewbot asked suddenly amidst the smiles and happy chatter, looking around. The Newsparks looked too. Bumblebee looked behind him. The younglings—who were in recharge there just a moment ago—were gone.

"I'll find them," he said immediately, before anyone could protest, and exited the med bay, not even registering the:

"Bumblebee, if you mess up your hands again doing something reckless with those two, _do not _expect any pity from me!" that Ratchet called after him.

**X x X **

He found them, walking haphazardly at the base of a hill just beyond Autobot headquarters.

_Go get them,_ a tiny voice said. _They are alright; they are waiting for you to find them. _But Bumblebee ignored the small voice, because now, he was in full panic.

Slag! His mind raced through the injuries that the younglings could have suffered because of that charge weapon, and though the logic in him knew that Ratchet would never leave injuries unattended, the mother bee in him went ballistic with all the gruesome possibilities. Broken limbs, broken chips, broken wires, broken processors…

Going down on his knees, he grabbed each youngling by the shoulder, and forced them to meet his gaze. "What are your designations? What are your names?" he asked slowly, trying to ascertain any damages they might have had to their internal programming.

The time that the younglings took to answer scared Bumblebee. The fact that they kept looking at the space around him, as though not being able to bring his face into focus, scared him even more. But the eventual answer triggered an emotion which flooded out the fear.

Spike was the first to answer. She still looked at the spaces around him, as though trying to find him, and trying to answer at the same time. "My name is…My name is…" Her vocal processor changed, becoming static, like the sound of a radio when in between stations.

It finally settled, changing gradually from young female's voice to a young male's. It was a sorely missed voice; a voice that Bumblebee listened to every night, and fell into recharge to every night, a voice on an old and often used computer file labelled "Sam and Mikaela."

The youngling finally looked at him, and Bumblebee saw something there that made his spark surge. "My name is Sam." Bumblebee's grip tightened, his optics going wide in shock. The youngling didn't stop there. Instead of wriggling out of his decidedly uncomfortable grasp, the youngling's arm snaked around his in a tight embrace. The rest of her—his—her—his—_**his**_ words came out in rushed, relieved, and above all joyful tones, all in that well-loved voice.

"I am Samuel 'Spike' James Witwicky, son of Ronald and Judy Witwicky… adopted femme of Dewbot and Fury-9, leaders of the Newsparks," he proclaimed, laughing.

"And I," Sparkplug stated, his—her—his—her—_**her**_voice already changed into that of her human form's, "I am Mikaela 'Sparkplug' Banes, my parents are Daniel and Alexis, and my adopted creators are the Newsparks Dewbot and Fury-9." Like her partner, she locked Bumblebee's arm in a vice-like grip. "And I am soon-to-be-crushed because _someone's_ holding me too hard," she added pointedly, though still in good humour.

Bumblebee forced himself to release the younglings lest he do damage to them. His hands were shaking. "Guys," he whispered, "it really is you?"

_It's been six years. Believe it; you have found each other._

He believed it. He believed it!

"Yes!" both of them said, and promptly rushed into his arms. Then they embraced, six years of absence and pain and emptiness forgotten. They were whole again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Part eleven: **in which a favour is fully repaid.

**Author note:** final chapter! Yay! Thanks to all who have read! Now Dialme and I are off to deal with those other bunnies : )

* * *

Favours

**11: Repayment**

"The Sector ain't goin'?" Jazz asked, frustrated. They were in the conference room again—just Optimus, Ratchet, Ironhide, and Jazz. For some reason, they felt that no other mech but they could be there. As if something was about to be announced—something was about to happen—and only they could stand witness to it. As if it was their right, and their right alone.

It had been several human hours since Bumblebee had wandered off to find the runaway younglings. Dewbot and Fury-9 had gotten extremely worried by the end of the first half-hour, but a transmission from Bumblebee had quieted their fears.

"I found the younglings," Bumblebee had said, his voice taking on an odd quality. It sounded…strangled, almost. Like he was in between crying and laughing. Odd, but, since no danger or trap were indicated in the tone, not odd enough to send out a rescue party. "We might take a few hours to get back to base." The voices of the younglings in the background, with the same odd strangled quality, were enough to calm the Newsparks back into a much needed recharge.

"No," Optimus said heavily, taking his thoughts away from where Bumblebee and the two younglings—the two younglings that reminded Optimus so very much of something so very precious—were and what they could possibly be doing. "The Newsparks are officially nonexistent. They did nothing in taking the Newsparks; likewise, we did nothing in taking them back."

"So what now?" Ratchet asked.

"We watch them," Optimus said simply. "One day, there will be no more Sectors. One day, the humans will see that we mean them no harm."

"You sure that isn't too much to hope for, Optimus?" rumbled Ironhide.

"A combination of discretion, caution, compassion and courage is our first weapon, my friend," Optimus answered, looking at the battle-hardened weapons specialist. "Hope is our second."

They all lapsed into silence then. And in their silence, a soft voice broke through their thoughts:

_They are here._

They looked up in time to see Bumblebee come through the door, the two younglings, in recharge, safely in his arms. The younglings had wrapped their arms around Bumblebee's neck, and had nestled their heads in his shoulders.

Bumblebee did not know how bizarre he looked to the adult mechs in the room.

"Optimus, sir," Bumblebee said, but before he could get any further, Ratchet cut him off.

"Bumblebee, what the slag are you thinking? Get those younglings to the med bay this instant!" he ordered.

"I can't do that, Ratchet," Bumblebee said, looking at the angry and now flabbergasted medic with a look of…a look of sheer happiness. So happy the Bumblebee was lost to it, and was not sure what to do with himself. None of them could remember when they had last seen Bumblebee so happy.

"You should come to the med bay as well," Ratchet said in a lower volume, looking confusedly into Bumblebee's optics, as if they might indicate what in Cybertron had come over him.

"Bumblebee, explain," Optimus said patiently.

"I found them," Bumblebee said shortly.

"Yes, Bumblebee, we know that. You are holding them as we speak," Optimus said, after a pause.

"No! Not just that. Sam and Mikaela. I found them." A shocked silence greeted his words. Those two names had not been uttered in the Autobot base for nearly six years, never spoken _to_ Bumblebee let alone _from _Bumblebee.

Ironhide and Jazz exchanged a look whilst Optimus and Ratchet looked at Bumblebee, and then at the younglings, in shock. The weapons specialist and the first lieutenant had the same thought: had…had all the grief finally made him crack?

"Bumblebee," Ratchet said in a rare gentle tone, coming in front of Bumblebee and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get all three of you to the med bay now…"

"Bumblebee isn't crazy, Ratchet," one of the younglings said somewhat drowsily, all the hullabaloo waking her out of recharge. It was a female voice, so the adult mechs instinctively looked at Spike—only to have Sparkplug turn around and continue talking to them with the same voice. The same well-loved voice.

"Mikaela?" Ratchet whispered, his hand still on Bumbebee's shoulder. Then he let go and stepped backwards, so that the other three mechs could clearly see too.

"Yep!" he—she proclaimed. She looked carefully at Ratchet, Jazz, Ironhide, and finally Optimus, all of their optics wide in shock, and unable to speak. There was something in her optics…"It's me—it's us." She looked over at the still-recharging Spike. Faintly annoyed, she smacked the white youngling's shoulder.

"Wha—whosere?" Spike said, using Sam's voice, and jerked into wakefulness. Bumblebee swiftly shifted his grip so that Spike wouldn't go toppling to the floor.

"Sam…we're here already," the youngling with Mikaela's voice said, in a very weary Mikaela-tone.

"Sam?" the four mechs asked, each breathing the word, as if saying the names aloud would wipe them away again.

There were logical explanations to this…well, more logical than the dead-humans-turned-to-mechs-and-femmes explanation anyway. It could have been that they were playing a trick…but none of them would ever be so cruel, and besides, Bumblebee would never use his dead friends' memory in such a vile manner. It could also have been that Spike and Sparkplug had suffered processor injuries during the battle, and that Bumblebee had succumbed to grief…but that didn't sound right either.

The only other explanation was…it was…

_It is, _said a small voice._ Believe it. __**It is.**_

And all those illogical explanations were thrown away with Sam's next word. "Yeah," he said, looking at them in contentment. The green optics met each of theirs, and, like with Mikaela's, they were lost to them. He seemed at a loss for words, as if this moment eluded even his babbling abilities. "So…did you miss us?"

The answer was lost in the scraping of chairs and in the harsh clanking of metal as Ratchet, Ironhide, Jazz, and Optimus went to embrace them.

After much hugging and much tearful babbling from the parts of Sam, and, surprisingly, Jazz, Optimus managed to get the younglings and placed them on the table.

"What happened?" he asked, clearly unable to articulate a more profound sentence in the face of such an event.

Spike/Sam looked and Sparkplug/Mikaela, then back at Optimus. Ironhide, Jazz, Ratchet, and even Bumblebee, whom they had spent the better part of the last few hours recounting the tale to, looked at them for an explanation, pinning them with their gazes, as though making sure that they were there, and that they were there to stay.

"Well," Spike/Sam finally said, "the short of it is that a friend needed a favour, and went to great lengths to return it. The long of it is…"

**X x X**

The children—for they were still children in Newspark, in Autobot, and in Bumblebee eyes—had gone back to using their original gender titles. Autobots and Newsparks were not sexual beings like humans were, so it mattered little that Spike had stopped answering to words like 'she and her' and Sparkplug had started answering to them instead. Though femmes were shaped more similarly to human females and it was convention for femmes to use female titles while conversing in human languages, it was unusual but not unheard of that a femme and a mech switched gender titles, the femme answering to 'he' and the mech answering to 'she.'

"Besides," Spike had said, "I was a guy when I was human, and in a femme body I never really felt like a girl."

But they had agreed that, for their safety, they should continue using their Newspark names. The older mechs didn't want any still-angry Decepticons getting any funny ideas about those two, and Spike and Sparkplug weren't too keen on the idea either. One death-by-Decepticon attack and one death-during-Decepticon attack was enough, thank-you very much.

The Newsparks knew too—they were their family, the _deserved _to know—and still loved them fiercely, some going on to proclaim that Spike and Sparkplug were Newsparks all along, even in human bodies. Kitten, Dewbot, and Fury-9, added that the source of their sparks did explain many things. Like how they only matured to Newspark equivalent of preteenhood—they had not yet hit adulthood in their human lives—and why they slept in bipedal form instead of alt-form.

Spike and Sparkplug, though not knowing what they were going to do now, did agree on one thing: their human parents and friends had to know, somehow, that they were okay.

Driving into Tranquility, they passed Spike's former house. The garden was in complete disarray, with weeds coming out in clumps. The house's paint was flecking. The place where there used to be a path was overrun with flora that even Sparkplug's Internet search engine couldn't identify. The only being there to greet them was an old dog.

The dog, with a limp that came from a broken paw that hadn't healed properly, promptly ignored the holograms and tried cuddling up to the motorcycles. "Hey, Mojo," Spike crooned as the dog attempted to lick his wheels. "I've missed you. Where are Mom and Dad, huh, you rehabilitated pill moocher?"

"What day is it today, Spike?" asked Sparkplug quietly. Spike told her. "Then I know where they are."

**X x X **

"Banes," greeted Ron as the fathers came across one another in the cemetery.

"Witwicky," answered Daniel, just as curtly.

"Alexis," Judy said more warmly, though just as sadly.

"Judy," said Alexis in the same tone.

"Miles," Miles said brightly. The four older adults turned to look at the young man. "Sorry," he muttered after an uncomfortable silence, "just trying to ease the tension…"

Ron suddenly heaved a sigh, and all the animosity vanished in the air as Daniel did likewise. They put trembling hands to their children's gravestones. "Been six years, you two," Ron said. "We've really missed you. Mojo too."

"The lawn's just not the same without you trampling in it, Sammy," Judy said.

"And I really miss my little girl helping me with those engines," Daniel said.

"And helping me with the cookies…so many people didn't know it, but you were a real girly-girl, Mikaela," said Alexis tearfully.

"And you'll be proud to hear that I've climbed one hundred more trees since our last visit," Miles said.

Any further discourse was stopped by the sight of two motorcycles rolling past the cemetery. They stopped just beyond the gates. The riders looked at them, smiling. There was a young woman on top of the red one, and a young man on top of the white one. They looked achingly familiar. They waved at them. Not knowing exactly why, the five people in the cemetery waved tentatively back.

With a final smile on part of the young man, and light laughter on part of the young woman, the two riders drove past them, into the road, scattering the fallen leaves. Miles was the first to speak. "You don't think—"

He couldn't finish the sentence. But all five people looked once more at the headstones, and once more where the riders had waved to them. "You always gave weird signs, you two," Ron said, affectionately giving a pat to the headstones.

"Thanks for telling us that you're okay, wherever—or whatever—you are," Daniel added lightly, not really paying attention to his truthful words. Judy, Alexis, and Miles could only look at the gravestones with something almost like cheer. They left the cemetery with gentle smiles on their faces.

"Ron, I really think it's time to install a new gazebo in our yard, don't you think?"

"Fantastic idea. I'll get on it right away."

One day, when there were no more Sectors and no more alien wars, Spike and Sparkplug would call them Mom and Dad again, and they would shake their heads embarrassedly at Miles' attempts at humour again. That day would come, they were sure of it.

**X x X**

A few weeks later, when the Newsparks were all patched up and sporting their new insignias (Ratchet would not let them leave the med bay without having them, otherwise any crazy Sector people could try to pull the same stunt again), they went to a nearby canyon to wait for the sunrise. They weren't surprised to find Bumblebee there waiting for them.

"Hey, Bee," Spike said, before climbing up one of the mech's crossed legs and sitting there, looking up at Bumblebee's faceplate. "Not staying at the base for 'the talk'? Not for 'the birds and the bees'? Seems right up your alley."

Bumblebee made a noise of disbelief. "No, thank-you."

"But Fury-9 explains it so well," Sparkplug said innocently, perching on Bee's other leg.

"I'm sure she does. How's Dewbot doing?"

"He's a new mech, ever since Fury-9 tempered his armour."

"She did well, after only the process one time."

"Ratchet is a good teacher."

"Does that mean your mischief is going to go up?"

"You know it," the younglings chorused.

"So the peace talks are going okay?" Spike asked. They were still avoiding Decepticon attention, so Dewbot had banned them from attending, going so far as to threaten them with four months of being watched by Kitten. Optimus had been slightly more imaginative, and, with prompting from Bumblebee, had threatened them with a mix of Jazz and Blaster's music. Spike and Sparkplug made themselves content with being locked in the Autobot base, though dutifully ignoring the high-grade.

"Yes. There were more former Decepticons there than were anticipated—Barricade among them, believe it or not—though some had scorned to come."

"You think it could be a trick?" Sparkplug asked.

"It could be," Bumblebee admitted. "We are prepared for such an event. But it never hurts to hope."

"You sure it's not too much to hope though?"

Bumblebee looked down at them, an equivalent of a gentle smile on his faceplate. "In the past few weeks, I've learned that it's never too much to hope."

The two didn't say anything in response, but, showing their satisfied agreement, settled themselves deeper in Bumblebee's lap. The exchanged some more news—like how a completely healed Kitten invited a rather flustered Arcee for a drive along the beach—before all three lapsed into companionable silence.

Spike let his thoughts wander, rubbing the marks on his shoulders unconsciously. The Sector attack had made the Newsparks more wary, more cautious, but less prideful and less fearful. Like all the other Newsparks, Spike proudly wore the Autobot insignia on his right shoulder, and the newly-minted Newspark insignia on his left. In his alt-form, the two insignias rested side-by-side at the front. The Newsparks were officially registered as Autobots as far as the government was concerned. The Sector could never touch them again.

The Newsparks made it clear that Optimus Prime was not their leader. Their allegiance lay with Dewbot and with Fury-9. But they also made it clear that Optimus and the other Autobots were their friends.

They would be helping the Autobots construct a nursery-like structure soon, for the sparklings that were sure to come…and for the sparklings that could have come already. That morning, while Spike and Sparkplug were waiting for their turn to have insignias placed on them, they saw a femme they knew only by name and sight—Chromia—saying something to Ironhide (who had gotten a preview of Fury-9's 'The Talk' two weeks before) that made the weapons specialist actually drop his cannon in shock.

And Spike and Sparkplug, being around nurseries for so long, knew what a sparkling-infused mech and/or femme looked like. And since it was the femme Chromia being infused this time…needless to say, Ironhide was going to have his hands full when the femme youngling came.

Officially, only Optimus, Ratchet, Jazz, Ironhide, and Bumblebee knew exactly what and who Spike and Sparkplug were and who they had been, and what they had done and why. But those five mechs and the humans-turned-Newsparks knew that every Autobot knew. They knew in every relatively harmless prank that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker (who had found their body transfer accident highly amusing but had the grace/mercy to ignore it) pulled on them, they knew in every quirky smile that came their way from Prowl, they knew in every long and affectionate greeting from Bluestreak, they knew in every attempt Red Alert tried to hide a "I-must-not-freeze-my-logic-processors-because-of-human-younglings-being-turned-to-mech-younglings-impossibility" look from them, and they knew in countless little acts from all the other mechs in the Autobot base. The 'Autobot humans' knew too; Lennox, Glen, Maggie…They knew, and they did not have to say a thing. They belonged.

In a sense, Spike was Newspark, but he was also Autobot, and he was also human. He was metal, but also flesh. He was a friend, he was a spark-mate, he was a charge, he was a child, he was a youngling, he was a teenager, he was a femme, and he was a boy. He was Spike, and he was Sam.

He was happy.

He was…he was…

He was really getting tired of all this reflecting.

"Race you!" he challenged Bumblebee and Sparkplug, transforming before the two bots could reply.

"No fair!" shouted Sparkplug, before transforming and racing after him. Their laughter echoed through the canyon.

Giving the younglings, his found-friends, a head start, Bumblebee realized that, for the first time in a long time, he finally felt at peace.

And racing around under the brilliant sky, embraced by the gentle light of a new day, the three reunited friends thought that they heard a small voice. It was neither male nor female, neither Cybertronian nor human, neither young nor old. It was the voice of life, the voice of sadness, the voice of mothers and fathers and daughters and sons. It was the voice of wisdom and kindness, and above all, truth. It said, in kind contentment:

_I guess this makes us even._


End file.
